Professor Monroe
by Athey
Summary: In Harrys 5th yr Voldemort wanted one thing - the prophecy. AU yr 5 -No Umbridge - Dumbledore found another teacher, but he isn't who he appears. Harry's world is turned upside down with new discoveries, exposed secrets, and a new love interest. Slash
1. Chapter 1

Long Author Note & Warning about my Bad Writing Habits:

First, the warning – I'm really bad at finishing stuff, and this story is not yet finished. You have been forewarned.

Okay, next! Welcome to the story that popped up and pulled my attention away from Extended Family, back in December. Yes, so for those of you who are all bummed that I haven't updated that one since before the winter holidays, you can blame this story. It popped into my head while sitting in the car for the long 3-days of travel it took to go from the West Coast to Nebraska; continued to drift through my mind over the break, and then consumed my thoughts on the 3-day drive back.

I've been writing it off-and-on since then. I've started and abandoned 3 other stories since then, and keep coming back to this one somehow. I see that as a good sign that my brain is at least somewhat committed to moving forward with it.

I've got loads of ideas for where I want this to go, and shockingly enough, haven't lost interest in it yet, so here I goes – I'm posting it here.

I've been posting it to my AFF account, but if you're under 18 and don't have an account over there, you can't read it, and of course, AFF doesn't have an alerts / story watch system, which sucks. So posting it here will make it a lot easier for people to follow if they care to do that.

I don't intend to edit this version, so there won't be any difference between the two, until a point in time when someone bitches about sexual content. I've seen way more explicit sex stuff on this site before, I'm not seriously worried. Still – its rated M for a reason.

– – – – –

Title: Professor Monroe

Rating: M

Warnings: Underage (Harry is 15)

Status: Not finished

Pairing: Harry/ (um, it's a surprise ;) - Slash

Themes: Politics, gradual conversion of viewpoint, questionable-ethics-Dumbledore, slight Dumbledore-bashing, slash, male/male

Summary: Dumbledore was getting desperate - if he didn't find a teacher to fill the Defense Post soon, the Ministry was going to place one of their own people in the position, and he knew that wouldn't be good under the best of circumstances. But no one was willing to take the post. At the last minute a candidate appears and Dumbledore accepts him with relief.

But who is Professor Monroe, really?

AN: From first glance, this story appears to go AU during the summer after Goblet of Fire. However that is not entirely true – events prior to that were different from cannon as well and will be revealed as part of the story later on.

– –

Professor McGonagall climbed the slowly spinning spiral staircase and knocked tiredly on the large heavy door that was found at the top. A soft 'come in' was heard from the other side and she quickly pushed the door open and quickly found herself in the chair opposite the Headmaster's desk. Said chair was, in her opinion, far too squashy, but it was Albus' office.

"So what's this about the Defense post? You say you've got a candidate?" she asked, getting directly to the point.

"Lemon Sherbet?" Dumbledore asked with a genial smile as he held out a small crystal bowl filled with yellow and white chandies.

She gave a restrained sigh and politely declined.

"Fine then," Dumbledore said setting the small bowl back down on the desk. "And right to the point, of course."

"It's not like we have a lot of time for pleasantries. Term begins in less than three weeks," she pointed out sternly. "And on top of my normal not-inconsiderable summer duties that I take on because you usually spend the summer holidays focusing on your other responsibilities, I've also had to take on all this work with organizing the Order."

"That it does. That it does," Dumbledore said with a tired nod. "And I do usually have the summer months to focus on my duties to the Wizengamot and the ICW, but alas, even I have had to let some of them slide in favor of calling together the Old Lot, warding headquarters, and getting our old network of information back up and running... it _has_ been a trying summer."

McGonagall nodded tiredly and let out a small sigh. "So have you really found a Defense professor? I was beginning to become seriously worried."

"Ah, yes. So was I, actually. In fact, it was beginning to look like Cornelius was about to do something quite rash if I was not able to fill the post by the end of the week."

"Rash? How so?" McGonagall asked, looking mildly worried. The Minister of Magic had already done a great many 'rash' and honestly _stupid_ things over the course of that summer, ever since Harry Potter came back from where ever he disappeared to during the final task, and informed them all that You-Know-Who was back.

"It appears that he was making moves towards having one of his own people placed in the job under the guise of 'educational reform'. It was quite unsettling."

"Good heavens. One of those sycophantic Ministry horrors, _teaching_? At Hogwarts?"

"Yes, quite. I must admit that I was becoming nearly desperate to find someone to fill the post, but none of my old contacts were willing to take the post, and none of the Order members were in the position to take it either."

Minerva huffed. "Of course not," she said almost bitterly. "Only a fool would _want_ the post. It's no secret that it's cursed."

Albus gave her a look over the top of his glasses, but it had been a great many years since that look had phased Minerva McGonagall.

"So who is it, then?"

Dumbledore reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a leather bound file. He opened it and pulled out several sheets of parchment and handed them over.

"His name is Maximilian Monroe."

She skimmed over the sheet, frowning slightly. "I vaguely remember him. Quiet boy. Ravenclaw, as I recall it."

Albus hummed and nodded. "He had very high marks, but as you said – he was _quiet_. Not many people knew him well. He had a muggle father, a witch mother who died when he was six, so he grew up primarily in the muggle world, isolated from magic until he came to Hogwarts. Aside from that, and his grades, I have found very little information about him. He basically vanished from most people's minds after graduation. He tells me that he traveled abroad – being a half-blood and with the war starting to grow violent as it was at the time, it wasn't entirely safe for him in Britain, so I can certainly understand this. He only just returned to Britain in early spring of this year, and got word of our need to fill the post about two weeks ago and contacted me."

"And you've hired him, just like that?" Minerva asked.

"As I said... I may be somewhat desperate to avoid whatever alternative Cornelius would force upon us otherwise. I have done this initial background check and nothing seems out of place, but as I said, he's been traveling abroad and information is limited."

"Oh, I hope this isn't another mistake," Minerva heaved a sigh.

"We have few other alternatives," Albus said gravely.

"I know, Albus. I know. It just seems like it's been one thing after another these last few years. I mean, the post has been cursed for decades, but it's been so much _worse_ the last few years. And we should have seen it! We should have... _noticed_, or something. I fear we've been complacent. I've grown to expect incompetence and oddities from the Defense teachers, and I just _ignored_ some of the signs. I mean, we _should_ have paid more attention to Quirinus. I can't help but wonder sometimes if we had perhaps caught on early if we could have saved him..."

"You cannot punish yourself like this Minerva. We never could have guessed what was actually afflicting him. No one would have expected that he was _possessed_. I feared he had chosen to work for Voldemort, but I had no idea the extent of it..." Dumbledore shook his head sadly and sighed.

"Of course we all knew that Gilderoy was a fool and a fraud, but that was another case of being desperate for _anyone_ to fill the post," Minerva said bitterly, rolling her eyes. "Still, I never would have thought he'd attack any of the children... I knew he was incompetent, but I never thought he'd be _dangerous_."

"Please, Minerva. You cannot go on like this."

"No, Albus. We need to face facts. We have been negligent, and quite simply, the same student keeps paying the price for that negligence, each year. Harry Potter has nearly _died_ every year that he has been here! That is just not right, Albus! Something is seriously wrong!"

"Yes, well unfortunately, Harry is just exceptionally good at getting himself involved in troublesome situations."

Minerva scoffed and shook her head. "I just hope, for that boy's sake, that there's nothing wrong with _this_ one. With You-Know-Who back and no-doubt rebuilding his power, and now all this rubbish that Fudge and the Prophet are throwing about, Harry has enough stress in his life without having to worry about whether or not his Defense professor is secretly planning to kill him."

– –

Harry followed the crowd of students into the Great Hall for the Welcoming Feast and took in the majesty of the room with a small smile. The comfortable familiarity of the setting was only a small consolation, considering the amount of turmoil he still had bubbling through his head. It seemed as if things had been outrageously hectic the last few days – like it had been some insane roller coaster ride, and he'd just been trapped, riding the rails and not knowing when the next turn would come at him.

Being at the Order's headquarters and getting to see Sirius again had been nice, but not quite as welcoming as he'd hoped for. Sirius was bitter and obviously feeling the effects of being cooped up in his miserable childhood home. And there had been the ever-looming threat of his trial at the Ministry. A trial that he'd almost missed entirely, when Fudge went and changed the time without letting him know. He was fortunate the Mr. Weasley had gotten the message and rushed to the lower level when they did.

It was a relief that Harry had managed to get off on all charges in the end, but the way Dumbledore had basically ignored him, refused all eye contact, and darted from the room as soon as things were over with, had been very frustrating and unsettling.

The ride on the Hogwarts Express had even been awkward, what with Ron and Hermione now being prefects and having to disappear off to their meeting, leaving Harry behind with Neville and that odd girl, Luna. Then when they'd arrived at Hogsmeade Station and prepared to board the carriages, Harry had been faced with the horrific sight of the leather-skinned, blackened, skeletal winged-horses. Winged-horses that neither Ron nor Hermione could see. Luna's insisting that she saw them too, and Harry was just as sane as she was, was very little comfort at all, in the end.

The presence of Professor Grubbly-Plank to guide the first-years, instead of Hagrid had been a source for some unsettled discussion during the ride back while they speculated on where their games keeper might be. That thought snapped Harry's attention back to the Hall and he let his eyes trail over the head table in search of his large friend.

He pointed out to Ron and Hermione that Hagrid was, in fact, missing, and the trio debated for a moment on possible explanations for his absence. Harry ended up leaning in and whispering his own theory – that maybe Hagrid wasn't back yet from whatever mission Dumbledore had sent him on for the Order. Hermione still looked worried and dubious.

"Hey, who's that?" Hermione said, pointing towards the Head Table.

Harry followed her gaze and his eyes fell first on Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the center of the long head table. Next to him was an empty seat where Professor McGonagall would usually sit, but on the other side of that seat was someone that he did not recognize at all.

He appeared tall, although it was hard to tell for sure since he was sitting down. He had very dark brown curtained hair, parted slightly to the side with the smooth wavy fringe brushed back over his ears, and the ends of his hair waved along the nape of his neck at the back. His eyes were a pale blue – a rather striking contrast to his dark hair – and his face had a sort of aristocratic structure with thin lips, defined cheekbones, and a straight nose. His poise was confident with an air of slightly bored interest while he appeared to converse casually with Professor Flitwick.

Harry felt an odd stirring inside him and found it difficult to draw his eyes away from the man. Something about him just _called_ to Harry. Something... something about him – Harry couldn't put a word or even a coherent thought to what he was feeling, but it was strong. It almost made him felt light headed.

"I dunno... new Defense Professor, you s'pose?" Ron asked and Harry blinked a few times before sluggishly pulling his eyes away.

"Yeah, that's probably right..." Harry trailed off as Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared from the side-door and went over to sit in the seat that _should_ have been Hagrid's. Harry frowned deeply, still feeling rather worried.

A minute later and McGonagall appeared through the same anti-chamber door holding the three-legged stool and the ragged old sorting hat. After setting it up and returning to the anti-chamber, she appeared once again, but this time with a group of tiny first years in tow.

Once they were all in a line and the hall had fallen silent, the rip in the front of the hat opened up, and the sorting hat began it's song.

_[AN: sorry – I usually avoid reprinting JK's sorting hat songs, but this one is semi-substantial to story progression, so it's here. It's directly from Order of the Phoenix]_

In times of old when I was new and Hogwarts barely started  
The Founders of our noble school thought never to be parted:  
United by a common goal, they had the selfsame yearning  
To make the world's best magic school and pass along their learning.

"Together we will build and teach! the Four good friends decided  
And never did they dream that they might someday be divided,  
For were there such friends anywhere as Slytherin and Gryffindor?  
Unless it was the second pair of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?

So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail?  
Why, I was there and so can tell the whole sad, sorry tale.

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those whose ancestry is purest."  
Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose intelligence is surest."  
Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name,"  
Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot, and treat them just the same."

These differences caused little strife when first they came to light,  
For each of the four founders had a House in which they might take only those they wanted, so,  
For instance, Slytherin took only pure-blood wizards of great cunning, just like him,

And only those of sharpest mind were taught by Ravenclaw

While the bravest and the boldest went to daring Gryffindor,

Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest, and taught them all she knew,  
Thus the Houses and their founders retained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony for several happy years,  
But the discord crept among us feeding on our faults and fears.  
The Houses that, like pillars four, had once held up our school,  
Now turned upon each other and, divided, sought to rule.

And for a while it seemed the school must meet an early end,  
What with dueling and with fighting and the clash of friend on friend  
And at last there came a morning when old Slytherin departed  
And though the fighting then died out he left us quite downhearted.

And never since the founders four were whittled down to three  
Have the Houses been united as they once were meant to be.  
And now the Sorting Hat is here and you all know the score:  
I sort you into Houses because that is what I'm for,  
But this year I'll go further, listen closely to my song:  
Though condemned I am to split you still I worry that it's wrong,  
Though I must fulfill my duty and must quarter every year  
Still I wonder whether sorting may not bring the end I fear.

Oh, know the perils, read the signs, the warning history shows,  
For our Hogwarts is in danger from external, deadly foes  
And we must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within  
I have told you, I have warned you.  
Let the sorting now begin

The song came to an end and the expected applause rang out, but for the first time that Harry could recall, it was stilted and interspersed with muttering and heads turned in to whisper.

The chatter was cut short by a hard glare from Professor McGonagall, and once the hall had fallen silent, she called out the first name, and the sorting began. Harry's mind was torn between pondering the Sorting Hat's rather foreboding song and letting his eyes wander back up to the head table to the unknown new professor.

Harry had to shake his head and blink several times on a few occasions as he found himself staring at the man for too long. He ran a hand through his hair, blinking and trying to rid himself of the odd foggy feeling in his head. Finally the sorting ended and Dumbledore stood up gaining everyone's attention.

He welcomed the new comers and welcomed back everyone else. A simple 'tuck in' was all that was needed for the food to appear and Ron eagerly began loading up his plate with chops. Hermione questioned Nearly Headless Nick about the sorting hat's song and previous times when it had made such warnings and the ghost replied that it had happened several times before – always during times when great danger was on the horizon, and always it's advice was the same – pull together and unite, or collapse from within.

Chatter quickly filled the hall as people caught up on summer activities, exclaimed about new hair cuts, and generally got reacquainted with each other after the two and a half month long holiday. Harry had been with Ron and Hermione for the majority of the last month, so there was no reacquainting to be done there, and he couldn't exactly tell any one else about the fact that he'd been living in the secret headquarters of a vigilante group, so he didn't have a lot to talk about to those around him either. Instead he listened as Dean and then Lavender recounted the highlights of their vacations.

After what didn't feel like all that long at all, the puddings had vanished and Dumbledore once again stood up.

"Now that we are all watered and fed, I do have a few start of term announcements to make," Dumbledore began. "Mr. Filch the caretaker has asked me once again to remind_ you_ that there is no magic to be used in the halls. Also the list of banned items has once again been expanded and a full copy can be found on the wall outside Mr. Filch's office. Students are also reminded that the Forbidden Forest is named so for a reason, and is _forbidden_. Those interested in playing Quidditch for their house teams should speak with Madam Hooch. She will be helping the team captains in preparing any tryouts that need to be conducted. Such tryouts will be held the second week of term.

"Now that that is out of the way, I have two notices about staff to announce. First I would like for everyone to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank who has been so kind as to come on board again to take over the duties of Professor Hagrid while he is out of the country on personal matters. Professor Hagrid should be returning later this year, but until then, Professor Grubbly-Plank will be handling the Care of Magical Creatures classes."

There was applause at this announcement, and quite a bit of enthusiasm from the Ravenclaws and Slytherins that Harry did not appreciate one single bit.

"Next I would like you all to welcome the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Maximilian Monroe." Dumbledore waved his hand in gesture towards the man in question and he stood up and gave a quick and simple nod of his head before moving to resume his seat.

This announcement also garnered quite a bit of quiet murmuring around the hall, but mostly because everyone always whispered and wondered about Defense professors. Of course this also once again drew Harry's gaze to the man as he had made his simple gesture of greeting.

He _was_ tall, and Harry still got that powerful impression of calm confidence radiating off the man. It seemed to strike some kind of unconscious chord within Harry. Something was just drawing his interest to the man, and he had no idea why.

Things drew to a close after that and the prefects were instructed to lead the first years to their new dorms, which meant that Ron and Hermione had to separate from Harry. Harry was still stewing rather bitterly over this particular development, if he were honest with himself. He still couldn't understand how Ron could possibly be seen as more deserving or better qualified for the position than Harry was. Even now, Ron was complaining to Hermione about letting the sixth year prefects deal with the firsties. He clearly didn't take the responsibility seriously, and Harry knew that he and Ron's grades were basically the same, so it wasn't academics either.

Harry huffed out a frustrated breath and joined the throngs of people leaving the Great Hall.

The following morning Harry and Ron went down to the common room, were joined by Hermione and then made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. They got their schedules from McGonagall and made plans to return to the tower in order to get the correct books and supplies for their first day of classes.

First was simple enough – it was History of Magic – but second block was double-potions followed by lunch. Divination and then Defense followed after that. Harry was dreading History and Potions... _and_ Divination, for that matter. The only potential bright spot was Defense, but that would depend entirely on how competent their new professor was.

The day progressed much as Harry had anticipated it to. History was a bore and Ron looked highly tempted to try and use the class for a good nap. Snape had spent the majority of the class doing 'review' questions from the previous term that Harry didn't honestly recall ever having covered before, and then calling them all worthless pathetic dunderheads and taking copious amounts of points from Gryffindor.

Divination was just as much a joke as it had been the previous two years and Harry once again questioned whether or not the supposed 'easy O' was really worth the headache and mortification that came with being Trelawney's favorite target for her foreboding 'visions' of his imminent death.

Finally last block arrived and Harry and Ron met up with Hermione in order to go to Defense.

"So you s'pose this one'll try to kill Harry, too?"Ron asked in a casual conversational tone as the three walked down the halls.

"_Ron!"_ Hermione exclaimed in horror and annoyance. "You cannot just joke around about things like that!"

"Why not? I mean, it's not exactly a great track record, is it?" Ron said. "Quirrell turned out to have You-Know-Who growing out the back of his head. Lockheart tried to _Obliviate_ us and run away when things got dangerous. Lupin, while a nice enough guy most of the time, but he _did_ try to eat us in the end,"

"Ron!"

"Whut? It's true!"

"It was hardly his fault, though," Hermione argued insistently. "And he certainly never _wanted_ to hurt Harry."

"Yeah, fine, fine. But then Moody turned out to not be Moody at all, but a Death Eater. That's four Defense Teachers who all tried to kill Harry."

"Lockheart didn't try to _kill_ you, and neither did Professor Lupin – not _intentionally_," she amended.

"Whatever," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

Harry just sighed in annoyance at their bickering and especially at the subject matter and walked a bit faster.

"In any case, Ronald, I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore was a bit more cautious about who he hired for the post this time," Hermione was saying as Harry got out of ear shot and came to the entrance of the Defense classroom. Harry came up short upon entering the room when he found it considerably altered from any previous years arrangements.

First and most obvious was the size of the room. He would swear that it was considerably _larger_ than it had been in the past. The sorts of desks he was used to finding in Hogwarts classrooms had been replaced with two long curved rows of seats that had those tiny attached writing surfaces on the front side – the sort he'd seen on the telly and in pictures of desks sometimes used in university lecture halls. The desks were close together – the only exception being a small isle down the center of the room from the door.

With only two long rows of desks, it left a very large amount of the room open. There was a tall wooden podium at the center directly in front of the desks, but behind the podium the room continued on and there were rows of mats on the floor, all along one side, and along the opposite wall were what appeared to be practice dummies of some sort, like clothing mannequins used by seamstresses. Harry's eyes widened and his interest was instantly piqued. A grin found it's way onto his face and he eagerly walked forward, sitting in the front-row aisle seat. Ron and Hermione entered behind him and both also paused to take in the space before coming over and sitting next to Harry – Ron first and then Hermione.

"What do you suppose is up with this room?" Ron asked, looking bewildered.

"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione said, sounding exasperated already. "He obviously intends for our lessons to have a more practical aspect."

"Practical?" Ron echoed still looking confused.

"We'll be dueling," Harry said excitedly, and Ron's face lit up with understanding and excitement.

"You really think so?"

"Why else would there be dummies, if not for target practice? And the mats wouldn't be there if there wasn't going to be people falling down, so we'll be shooting spells at each other too!" Harry said, and Ron's grin only grew wider.

It was a double-block period of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and the room filled up quickly. The chimes in the bell towers rang, signaling the start of class and people were still talking with hushed excitement as everyone speculated about the class.

Finally the door in the back opened up again and Professor Monroe strode in down the center and up to the podium in a confident, powerful stride. Harry's eyes were instantly locked on the man and he felt his chest swelling with something akin to excited anticipation. Even his heart rate raised. The man was wearing all black, but his robes were in a unique style Harry hadn't really seen much. Where as most of the professors wore large billowing robes that flowed all the way to the ground, Professor Monroe was wearing a very form-fitted outfit. The upper torso had a high collar with tiny buttons going down the center until just below his waist where the form-fitting nature shifted into a flared bottom that draped down only about to his knees. He wore fine pressed black slacks and shiny black shoes.

He came off as both somewhat intimidating, but also extremely proper and confident. And yet somehow Harry wasn't put off by the whole thing. He didn't come off to Harry as arrogantly-posh the way wizards like Malfoy's father did. Instead he almost felt like someone who had _earned_ the right to be proud and confident. Harry really wasn't sure where that impression came from though. Especially since he didn't know a thing about the man.

Professor Monroe settled in and set some parchment down onto the podium before looking up at the students who were now all sitting in silence and watching him expectantly.

"I suppose I'll begin by welcoming you all the fifth year iteration of the class known as Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm Professor Monroe and I will be your instructor for the year. I am not naïve enough to assume outright that I will be returning for next year, although I wouldn't be opposed to the idea. I simply prefer to be practical and realistic, and given history, it doesn't seem entirely likely. As such I am going to do my utmost to try and make sure that you are caught up to where you _should_ be for your year level, and are sufficiently prepared in the unfortunate case that whoever fills this post next year is an incompetent moron."

There were a few snickers around the room at this statement and Harry found his spirits rising with slowly growing hope for this class.

"To begin things, I need to know exactly what level you are presently at, and seeing as how none of my predecessors appear to have left behind any notes or lesson plans, I'm afraid the only way to do this is to give you all a test."

The classroom was filled with groans and Professor Monroe whipped his wand, seemingly out of nowhere and gave it a simple flick sending the parchment he'd put on the podium flying across the room until a single sheet of parchment had landed on each of the students tiny little side-desks.

"This is only the written portion of the test. The_ other_ portion will be a practical exam. While there may be some level of value in being able to spout off obscure historical facts and about who created what spell and for what motive, or what obscure object or spell will cause a dangerous creature or plant to submit to you, it does a person no real good if they are put face to face with an opponent and find themselves unable to actually cast an appropriate spell.

"I do not expect anyone in here to be able to answer every question on the test, and the results of it will not effect your grade. You will notice that the written exam in front of you is split into two parts. The first part has questions that the Ministry expects you to know, but that I do not honestly think are all the important or even valid to the subject matter. If it were up to me, I wouldn't even cover some of them at all since I have far more important things to cover and a limited time to do it in, however these questions may also be on your OWL exams, and it is also my job to make sure that you all become qualified witches and wizards. And that means passing your OWLs. If you encounter any of these questions that you do not know the correct answer to, leave it blank. Don't even bother to guess – chances are that common sense and conjecture won't lead you to the Ministry approved 'correct' answer. If they're blank, I know that I need to make sure you learn them.

"The second page are skills and spells that you should be academically familiar with by the time you reach this level in your education. If you encounter one of these questions that you do not know the answer to, I want you to give me your best, educated guess. One thing that I will be encouraging in my class is critical thinking and creative reasoning and problem solving. I suppose that's enough lecture for now, you have thirty minutes. Begin."

And with that abrupt end, everyone scrabbled for quill and ink from their bags and began to examine the sheet of parchment before them.

Harry began writing quickly, feeling an urgent need to do _well_ on the test. He was a bit disheartened early on when he found that he didn't know the answer to about a third of the questions on the first sheet. The number of blanks left him feeling rather pathetic and stupid. Just the same, some of them seemed rather silly. How was anyone supposed to remember which of a Runespores three heads was the planner, which was the dreamer, and which one was venomous? Well, okay, knowing which head was venomous was probably important, so you knew which one to avoid the most, but Harry thought the smartest thing to do when encountering a Runespore would be to just avoid the whole thing all together.

Or maybe in his case, try to convince it to leave him be, but most people didn't have the option of trying that.

Harry finally flipped the paper over, giving up on the first section as a lost cause. His spirits raised instantly as he found he was far more familiar with the topics asked in the second section. He'd done a lot of cramming the previous year for hexes, jinxes, and various defensive spells, in hopes of surviving the last task of the tournament, and for the first time since that awful day, he felt like he could put some of that knowledge to use.

He finished up the last question with a few minutes to spare, and set his quill down feeling better. Even Professor Monroe had said that the first part of the test was less important in any real-world application of Defense. Of course, Harry realized, he would still have to learn some of that stuff since this _was_ his OWLs year, and he wanted to do well on his final exams too. But things were different now. Voldemort was back and there were more important things than passing tests. They needed to learn to fight and defend themselves, and it seemed, so far at least, that this new Professor agreed with that sentiment.

Harry found himself smiling rather widely as he sat back in his chair and let his eyes wander the room until they once again fell on Professor Monroe.

The professor was sitting at a desk that sat against the side wall about ten feet to the left of his podium. He was writing on a piece of parchment with quick smooth flourishes of a black feather quill. There was a little device on his desk that looked like a spinning top. It had been spinning perfectly this entire time but suddenly it stopped and fell to the side on it's point. Professor Monroe set down his quill and stood up. "Times up," he called out and the sound of hurriedly scribbling quills slowly settled down as a few stragglers tried to finish up.

Professor Monroe made a small efficient jerk of his wand and every one of the sheets was pulled off the students desks – even right out from beneath their quills – and flew across the room and formed a neat pile on his desk.

"Next we will have a practical exam, but first I want to have a small discussion. Consider this an exercise in critical thinking. Who can tell me what they think is the most dangerous thing that an adult, qualified, witch or wizard could come across?"

He paused and looked around the silent class expectantly. Slowly a few hands raised into the air.

"Yes you, what's your name?"

"Er, Seamus Finnegan"

"Well, Mr. Finnegan – what do you think might be the most dangerous thing that an adult, qualified wizard could come face-to-face with is?"

"Uhm, well a Dragon?"

"A dragon is quite dangerous, however it is certainly not the most dangerous thing you could come across. Dragons are classified by the Ministery as a class five dangerous creature, but so is a Nundu. A dragon can be taken down by stunners from twenty wizards working together. A nundu has never been taken down by less than 100. Anyone else? Yes, you – Mr – ?"

"Terry Boot."

"Mr. Boot. What do you think is the answer to this question?"

"A Nundu?"

There were some snickers at this.

Professor Monroe smirked in amusement but shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. While both Nundu and Dragons are horribly dangerous creatures, there is one sure-fire way to escape from both of them completely unharmed. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

There was silence.

"It's the same way to escape from an Acromantula, or a Basilisk, or a Chimera. All level 5 dangerous creatures. No one can guess?

Again, there wasn't a single person raising their hand. Not even Hermione, who looked entirely puzzled and frustrated.

"Apparition," he said finally with a smirk. "You run away. I know that's a concept that many Gryffindors might have trouble grasping, but when it's your life on the line and you're faced with an opponent that you have no hope of defeating on your own, the best option is always to leave. The best thing about all of these creatures it that they are just that – Creatures. They each have magical traits and abilities, but not a single one of them can cast an anti-apparition charm, or establish an anti-apparition ward."

Hermione's hand went up and he nodded.

"But what if you are in an area that already has anti-apparition wards erected?"

"Ah, good question. The answer would be to carry an emergency portkey on you, or make a portkey out of a small object where ever you are that you have encountered the dangerous beast in question."

"But that's illegal!" Hermione gasped. "Portkey use is a controlled form of magical transportation. All portkeys have to be issued and approved by the Ministry."

Harry wasn't sure, but he was fairly sure that the professor had only just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. As it was, Harry _didn't_ refrain.

"I would care less about getting a fine from the Ministry if my life were on the line. Also, despite what certain people would like you to believe, the Ministry cannot track the use of low-powered portkeys within the boundaries of the British Isles. An international portkey requires a significant enough power that their spells can detect _that _– and chances are that few of you would even be capable of making one – but personal-use portkeys are not traceable, and honestly not all that hard to make, you just have to find someone to teach you since all the materials that explain it have been censored by the Ministry. Portkeys can also work through anti-apparition wards. Even Hogwarts own wards cannot stop a portkey."

Harry felt a sickly chill run down his spine as he was reminded of the last time he'd used a portkey. It hadn't even occurred to him at the time, but the Quidditch pitch, and therefore the maze for the third task, _was_ within the boundaries of Hogwarts wards. He'd been both transported out of the wards and then back into them when he returned.

It made him wonder suddenly why Crouch hadn't simply turned one of his homework assignments into a portkey and just handed it to him in class. Why go to so much outrageous trouble as setting up the whole task just to get Harry to grab the cup? Especially since there was a chance that Harry might not be the one to win and get to it first. He quickly pushed it from his mind, frustrated and upset by the whole matter.

"The catch here is that in order to create a portkey into a warded area, you have to have magical right of access to the wards. So while a portkey can go through Hogwarts's apparition wards, the headmaster of Hogwarts is the only one who can create a portkey that has a destination within the school's wards. Creating a portkey that can take a person from inside the school wards to another location, however, can be done by anyone – although a two-way portkey is one way to get around this limitation," Professor Monroe continued.

"Creating a portkey that will take you into an open and abandoned field with no wards around it at all, can be done by anyone who has ever been to that field. If ever you expect to be going into a potentially life-threatening situation, the most prudent course of action is to create an emergency portkey ahead of time and wear it around your neck with an activation word that you won't say on accident.

"Now, with all of this in mind – can you tell me what would be the most dangerous thing to encounter?"

Again the room was silent as people frowned in thought and confusion.

A thought occurred to Harry and he slowly raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Uhm... is there a spell that can prevent a person from using a portkey?"

Professor Monroe grinned. "There is. But even if you don't know the spell, can you think of any other ways of keeping a person from using a portkey?"

"Summoning the portkey away from them?"

"Yes! Any others?"

"Uh... oh, casting a silencio?"

"Again, yes! Of course this only works if the portkey is a word-triggered one and not a contact activated portkey."

Harry nodded and grinned. "Okay, then it's a wizard. The most dangerous thing you might have to face is another wizard."

Monroe beamed. "Precisely! Ten points to Gryffindor. Mr. Potter has stumbled upon precisely the point I am trying to make. If you are facing any number of magical creatures, there are always several options at your disposal for running away or shielding yourself. You, as an intelligent and creative being, have numerous options at your disposal, while the creature or plant does not. However when you are put face-to-face with another witch or wizard then you are left with pitting your ingenuity and skill against _theirs_. Can you be sure that you're the better man? Or woman, as it were?

"Fighting against another witch or wizard has the potential of being the most dangerous situation you might find yourself in. Wizards are unpredictable. They can be creative. They can be ruthless. A creatures' motives are usually very simple to work out. Their desire is survival. They want to eat, they want to breed, they want to protect their offspring, they want to protect themselves or their territory. But a wizards' motives can often be far more complex and more difficult to determine.

Now, let me pose you all another question and then we will move onto our practical exam. If another witch or wizard shoots the killing curse at you, what can you do to save yourself?"

There was a pause before Hermione raised her hand into the air.

"Yes, Ms...?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"You could transfigure something into a reflective metal surface – ideally polished gold – and summon it into the path of the spell," Hermione said proudly.

A few people in the class looked impressed while a few others just looked surprised, apparently having never heard that something like this could work.

"An interesting proposition," Professor Monroe said slowly. He walked over to his desk and picked up a small smooth river rock that he appeared to be using as a paper weight. He walked over and placed it on the tiny surface of Hermione's desk before walking back over to his own desk. He picked up the spinning top-thing he'd used earlier and began to spin it on his desk.

"Transfigure that into a polished reflective metal, or a suitable equivalent," he commanded.

Hermione blinked in surprise before quickly fumbling for her wand and aiming it at the rock. Before the rock had even begun to change it's color, Monroe had his wand out, aimed it at her and a glowing white light shot out of it, across the room, and impacted Hermione's chest.

Several students gasped or screamed while many others jumped in shock.

Harry nearly jumped out of his seat as he looked over at Hermione who simply looked shocked. There was no obvious sigh of the light having done anything.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled out. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she insisted still looking shocked as she checked herself over for any sighs of damage.

"It was just a bit of light. Empty magic. Nothing more," Professor Monroe said and the class slowly calmed down. "However it moves through the air just as fast as the killing curse does." His hand came down and he stopped the spinning top. Harry wondered if it had really been nothing more than a diversion.

"Can anyone else suggest a way to avoid being hit by a killing curse?"

Hesitantly, Harry raised his hand. All eyes turned to him and he felt heat rise on the back of his neck under the intensely uncomfortable scrutiny.

"Mr. Potter," Monroe called on him.

"Dodge? Er, you know – get out of the way."

Again, Monroe beamed rather widely and Harry felt a sense of pleased exhilaration rise in his chest at the apparent approval.

"Again, you've hit it right on the head. Another five points to Mr. Potter. While Ms. Granger's suggest is technically valid – if you have access to an appropriate material and can get it summoned into the path of a killing curse, it can technically, stop the curse before it gets to you – however it is not practical. In fact, many of the supposedly 'correct' answers to the questions on the first page of your exam are far from practical. One question you could potentially expect to see on your OWLs exam is how to best subdue a dragon by yourself. Does anyone know the answer to this question?"

Again, there was silence.

"Pixie dust," he said with an amused little grin. "It will knock a dragon out cold. All you have to do is actually _have_ pixie dust on hand – and it is extraordinarily hard to get in large quantities – and then you have to get the dragon to breath it in without simply burning it into smoke with their fire breath. Technically pixie dust can subdue a dragon. However it is hardly practical. This is a consistent trend among magic users. They find a convoluted but clever way to deal with a problem, and then they're overly proud of themselves for the accomplishment without ever questioning whether or not the thing is even practical in a real-world situation.

"Practicality, efficiency, creativity and critical thinking. Those are the traits that I prize most in my class, and it is those traits that I will reward most. Now, I want everyone to stand up and follow me." Monroe walked into the back half of the classroom and motioned for them all to follow. "Gryffindors along this line facing the wall. Ravenclaws along the wall facing the Gryffindors," he said and everyone had quickly done as instructed.

It did not escape anyone's notice that they were standing on padded flooring.

Harry found himself standing opposite Sarah Fawcett. Ron beside him was opposite Anthony Goldstien and Hermione was opposite Padma Patil.

"You should now be standing opposite your new partner. Each one of you needs to pick a number – either one or two. Decide it between the two of you now," Monroe called out calmly.

Harry blinked and gave a bit of a shrug to Fawcett. "Um... do you have a preference?"

"I'll be two, I guess," she said with a shrug of her own.

"Okay, fine."

Quiet chatter continued on for a minute longer before Monroe called out again. "Everyone ready? Okay, good. The number one's will now try to disarm their partner. Is there anyone who does not know the spell?"

Harry was surprised to see a few hesitant hands climb into the air. Professor Monroe did a quick demonstration for them and they were set to the task. Their test continued on like that for some time longer. The number one's would go for several minutes before it would switch and the other partner would try. Not everyone could do it... in fact, Harry was shocked at just how many people seemed incapable of disarming their partner at all.

After disarming spells were tested, he had them try stunners, then petrificus totalus, then impedimente, then incarcerous, followed by several others. Very little time was given for practice – Professor Monroe was simply testing to see if they could successfully fire the spells within a time limit of three to five minutes so that he would know what areas would need to most focus later on.

Harry was thrilled with the fact that every spell they'd covered so far was a spell he'd mastered last spring or earlier, in preparation for the task. Even after a summer without using magic, he had managed every one of the spells on the first try, and Professor Monroe gave him another five points for his success. Fifteen points on the first day of classes wasn't bad at all, as far as Harry was concerned. It even made up for the ten points that Snape had taken from him for no reason at all in potions that morning.

Hermione had also gotten all the spells, although it had taken her a couple tries to get impedimente to work correctly. She still got five points, as did Su Li from Ravenclaw.

The end of class was approaching and things were settling down. Everyone left the open portion of the classroom to return to their desks while Professor Monroe bent over his desk making notes on a sheet of parchment.

"One last thing before you all leave," he called out, standing up and addressing them all. "I have been granted permission from the headmaster to start a new club."

Several students perked up in interest, Harry was one of them.

"Don't go making assumptions," Monroe scolded gently with a smirk. "It is not a dueling club, but rather a speech and debate club. In this classroom you will hone your magical combat skills, but in the debate club students will hone their _verbal_ skills and their minds. It is an avenue to practice and improve your skills in public speaking for some, but it also poses an opportunity to expand your critical thinking skills, and exercise your mind and spur-of-the-moment creativity. I know it doesn't sound all that interesting to some of you, but I highly recommend any and all of you to come and check it out. Also, for any students who participate in the debates, there will be voting held and the 'winner' of the debate will earn a varying number of house points. Just a bit of incentive for you all to think over. Notices will be placed in each of the common room notice boards with details, later this week."

This got a lot of interested murmuring going around the room – mostly among the Ravenclaws. The sound was cut off by the sound of the chimes ringing in the bell tower and the hustle of everyone standing from their desks and talking excitedly.

"Oh, I'm so excited!" Hermione exclaimed as she, Harry and Ron exited the class.

"Yeah, can you imagine it? A defense professor that seems to know his stuff, and _isn't_ completely off his rocker. We'll even get to practice dueling!" Ron gushed.

"Not that, Ron – although that really is quite exciting too. I was talking about a _debate_ club!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron gave her an incredulous look. "Are you barmy? Why would you be excited over _that?_ You seriously want to join that stupid thing?

"Oh, you are hopeless, Ronald Weasley!" she exclaimed in exasperation. She turned her hopeful gaze on Harry. "Will you consider attending it with me, Harry? Please? I just _have_ to go, but it'd be so much more fun if you came with."

Harry hesitated, cringing slightly. Public speaking was definitely not something he enjoyed... _at all._ But maybe he wouldn't have to actually engage in any of the debates and could just watch.

"As long as it doesn't interfere with Quidditch practice," he replied and she beamed and nodded.

"Of course. So what did you two think of Professor Monroe? I, for one, was _very_ impressed."

"Yeah, he was brilliant!" Harry agreed enthusiastically. "He's got this commanding _presence_ and he really comes off as someone who knows what he's talking about. And he really made sense too. It wasn't just rubbish for the sake of grades, but teaching us things that are important for our survival in dangerous situations. Real-life applicable stuff."

"Well, the grades are important too," Hermione said in a reproving sort of tone and Harry just gave her an exasperated nod of his head in resigned acceptance. "This _is_ our OWLs year, Harry. I expect you and Ron to start taking your studies more seriously!" her pointed gaze fell back on Ron again and he flinched and grimaced.

"Well in any case, I've got higher hopes for Defense then I did before," Harry said, grinning.

– –


	2. Chapter 2

– –

The week progressed predictably from there. Classes were about the same as always, only somehow more intense. Instead of the slow start Harry was accustomed to, all of the teachers seemed anxious to get started _right away_ and cram as much information into their heads as possible with the looming threat of their OWL exams at the end of the year.

Wednesday night Angelina Johnson, who had been made the Quidditch captain for the year, cornered Harry in the common room to discuss scheduling and the tryouts that would be held the following week. Once Harry confirmed that he was willing and interesting in retaining his position as Seeker, Angelina heaved a relieved sigh and said that she would only need to fill Oliver's old spot then. The Keeper's position.

Harry went over to Ron as soon as Angelina had left to inform his friend about when to expect the Quidditch tryout to happen.

Ron was a nervous wreck after that, and by mid-day Thursday, he was quite literally driving Harry up the wall. Harry finally offered to let Ron used his Firebolt to practice, but then Ron just moaned about how if he practiced on a Firebolt but then went back to having to use a Cleansweep in the actual games, he'd end up making an arse out of himself.

Harry had to admit he had a point, but it once again left him with no idea of how to help calm his friend down other than simply waiting it out until the tryouts finally happened.

Thursday afternoon brought Harry's second Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and he found himself entering the room with excited anticipation.

Once again, moments after the bells had chimed, Monroe entered the room and made his way to the podium. He was once again clad all in black, but this time his robes had large bell sleeves and his tailcoat went a bit lower to his calves rather than stopping at the back of his knees.

His hair was still perfectly stylish and shiny. _It looks soft..._ His eyes were still penetrating and knowledgeable. His thin lips had the slightest hint of a smile upon them and he looked out over the room of students with a gleam to his eyes.

Harry felt his heart rate increase again just looking at the man. His eyes had often been drawn to him during meals, but he'd come to learn that Professor Monroe didn't often take lunch in the Great Hall, and his breakfasts were always early. But no matter what situation Harry saw him in, he always looked poised and confident. That inexplicable _something_ about the man had continued to intrigue Harry as well as allude his understanding.

He couldn't figure out why he found himself so fascinated with the man. Why his eyes were always drawn to him; why his heart rate would pick up whenever the man looked his way. Why it had filled him with such a thrill that the Professor had awarded him points for his answers and his spellwork in the first class. It had pleased Harry beyond rational explanation to know that _he_ had been the one to get Monroe's questions right. That _he_ had impressed his new teacher, and entirely on his own merits. Hermione hadn't even managed to answer them correctly.

Harry's attention was pulled back to the class as Professor Monroe began his lecture. He went over what he'd garnered from their tests results and then handed out a syllabus for the term before beginning a lecture on the importance of stamina and endurance in a duel. The majority of the other students groaned miserably when Monroe said that he was starting a morning jogging and workout regime that was optional but highly encouraged if they wanted to do well in the physical portions of the class.

Harry found himself highly intrigued by the prospect of this. Ron, in contrast, looked horrified by the mere prospect. It involved meeting up at the classroom at 6:30 in the morning – a time that Ron probably hadn't personally seen in years. Breakfast ran from 7:30 until just before 9:00 when classes started. Harry figured the training couldn't last more than an hour each morning, and any extra time was there so that participants could return to their dorms for a shower.

Normally, he was pretty sure that any activity that took away from his morning sleep was an activity he wouldn't want anything to do with; however he felt almost compelled to attend this. It was only three days a week, actually – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday – and he could probably use the exercise anyway. Plus, he'd been sleeping wonderfully all week. He couldn't recall ever feeling so rested in his life, and he'd blamed it mostly on being comfortable and happy being back at Hogwarts after the musty, oppressive dark of Grimmauld Place.

So when Professor Monroe asked for a show of hands of those who thought they'd be coming for the physical training, Harry raised his hand without hesitation. Even Hermione looked at him in surprise. Ron just looked horrified. Neither of them raised their hands. For that matter, hardly anyone else did, either. Dean Thomas was the only other Gryffindor while Terry Boot and Stephan Cornfoot were the only ones from Ravenclaw.

After that, there was a session where Professor Monroe would ask a question of the class, much like he had the day before, to see what sorts of answers people might come up with and bringing about an interesting discussion over the various answers people came up with. It was fascinating and Harry had never felt so interested or excited by any class lecture before in his whole life. He felt challenged, but also almost _enlightened_. His mind was being stretched and worked, and not just with regurgitating facts from a dry old book, but rather actually _thinking_ over different scenarios and spells and which ones would be most useful in various situations.

After a little more than a half an hour of discussion, they were all migrated to the back of the classroom to start up a session of _target practice_. Monroe told them that the single most consistent problem he saw the day before with the practical test hadn't necessarily been any collective failure to know any specific spells, but rather the rather obvious failing at _aim_. The class had groaned and complained at first – obviously thinking that an exercise of such low level was beneath them and a waste of time. _They weren't even practicing any specific spells!_

He soon had them all shooting out the same colorless bolt of harmless magic that he'd fired at Hermione during the previous class. The dummies, that were now lined up along both walls of the back of the room, had a small glowing ball of light over their heads that turned different colors depending on level of accuracy in aim. Harry cast a series of quick shots in a row and grinned proudly as the light remained green through the whole thing. He let his eyes stray and was almost staggered by the number of glowing red and yellow balls over the heads of the other practice dummies.

He supposed Professor Monroe had a point. They really did have awful aim.

Being able to correctly say the incantation and getting the wand movement down while correctly focusing were all important, but they were worthless if you couldn't hit your target in the end.

Monroe gave demonstrations several times for various students and Harry stopped whatever he was in the middle of, every time, as all of his focus zeroed in on his charismatic teacher and his amazing form. The way he stood; the way held himself; and the fluid perfect motion of his arm and wand as he cast the spell – it was mesmerizing. Harry felt his breath go shallow and his heart rate pick up slightly as he watched the man's quick efficient movements with awe.

A warm curling twisted its way through his lower gut and a pleasant pulsing coursed through his member. Harry tried to subtly push the heel of his palm against it to adjust it, as it was beginning to feel rather uncomfortably confined in his trousers. The sharp burst of pleasure upon contact shook him out of his haze and he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was getting _hard_. From watching his _teacher._

_His male teacher._

The level of shock and confusion this shot through him was powerful enough to deflate his problem; which he was greatly thankful for. But nothing seemed capable of calming his now stormy and bewildered thoughts.

– –

He tried desperately to just push the thoughts from his mind, but he was now faced with another problem. The following day was Friday, and it was to be the first day for the morning exercise stuff. No matter how befuddled Harry felt about his body's reaction, he still very much wanted to go.

But the fact that he still couldn't explain why, bothered him. A lot of his reactions in relation to his teacher couldn't really be explained, in fact. He wanted to tell himself that his knob's reaction during the dueling portion was just random nonsensical teenaged hormones, but what about everything else?

Did he fancy his teacher?

The following morning Harry got himself up outrageously early, but once again felt refreshed after a wonderful nights rest, so the early hour wasn't nearly as difficult as he might have feared. He made his way to the Defense corridor and found a small gathering of students there.

He didn't see anyone younger than him there. Harry wasn't sure if that meant that Professor Monroe hadn't invited the fourth year and lower classes to join, or if it simply meant that none of them had been willing. As it were, from his own year there were two Gryffindors, two Ravenclaws, three Hufflepuffs and not a single Slytherin. It made him quietly snort as he mentally snickered about lazy Slytherins needing their beauty rest.

From the sixth and seventh years, it was much the same thing, although there were two seventh year Slytherins in the group. Harry also noted that every person who was there was also a member of their house Quidditch team. The only one of them he was legitimately familiar with was Cedric, who Harry was fairly sure had been made team Captain for the Hufflepuff team this year. Harry was tempted for a moment to go talk to him, but in the end he refrained.

Harry and Dumbledore had both been prime targets of the media and Fudge's people, ever since the incident with the tournament. Cedric had been targeted a bit as well, mostly from people trying to pressure him into saying that Harry was a lair. The thing was that Cedric had been stunned the moment he and Harry landed in that graveyard and hadn't seen a damn thing, so he really couldn't confirm anything, either way. The press had finally backed off of him, and Harry didn't want to draw any attention back to the other boy if it could be avoided.

Professor Monroe showed up soon after Harry got there and gave a quick talk about the route they'd be taking when they went for jogs outside, and then about what they'd be doing once the weather got too nasty to be outdoors. He also told them what sort of clothes they should be wearing for best freedom of movement and comfort.

He himself was wearing loose cotton slacks – black, of course – a pair of black shoes that looked reminiscent of muggle trainers, and yet clearly not, and a black cotton tunic that sort of hugged his torso while also looking loose enough for comfort.

Since this was a bit of a new experience for all of them, he was sticking to building up their stamina to start with, so they'd be jogging before coming in for a small break before doing some simple calisthenics. He then had to pause to explain what 'Calisthenics' meant, and then convince several of the students that it was _not_ some 'silly muggle thing', and that it originated in ancient Greece and has been used by wizards for over a thousand years.

The whole while Harry's attention had been split between listening to his professor and just _looking_ at his teacher. But with new eyes. Harry over-scrutinized his every reaction to the man, but by the time he was done, he felt even more confused than before. The man's clothing didn't help things. Harry couldn't help but look at him and find himself enjoying the view. Which, in turn, freaked him out and made him blush.

Before he knew it, he was following the small crowd out of the castle and onto the grounds. They did a loop around the entire castle, having to stop twice for stragglers who were too winded and exhausted to keep going without a break. At least all of the Quidditch players were keeping up pretty well. Harry wondered if he should mention this whole thing to Angelina. He knew that if Oliver were still around and still captain, he would probably mandate that everyone on the team join in for this thing. Then again, he had a feeling that if he did mention it to Angelina and she _did_ make everyone on the team join, that Fred and George would personally _cruciate_ Harry for it. And if Ron ended up joining the team, he'd do much the same. Weasley's were _not_ morning people.

Finally they made it back inside and up to the third floor defense classroom. Another short break later and Monroe was demonstrating the common exercises of Callisthenics. Lunges, jumping jacks, sit-ups, crunches, push-ups, pull-ups, squats, calf-raises, dips, and something called 'flutter kicks'.

He had bars attached to the back of the wall in order for them to do the pull-ups, and had conjured a set of parallel bars for the dips. After he'd demoed each one while explaining which muscle groups the various exercises aided, he told them all to start with jumping jacks for the next few minutes.

There was obvious hesitation among the students. No one wanted to look ridiculous in front of their peers, and there was no questioning that doing jumping jacks would probably look ridiculous. Feel urged on by that traitorous little voice inside him that had been so stupidly pleased when Professor Monroe had praised him in class, Harry stepped forward and was the first to start.

His heart gave a ridiculous flutter at the pleased look Monroe gave him as the others followed suit and also began their exercises.

After the exercise session had run to a close and everyone was leaving in a rush so they could shower and make it to breakfast, Harry herd the professor call out his name and paused mid-step.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked as he turned around and had to fight off the blush that wanted to stain his cheeks. He glanced around and watched as the last of the other students vanished from the room, leaving him alone with Monroe.

"I was wondering Mr. Potter, if you'd indulge me in a curiosity of mine. I was hoping you might have the time to join me for afternoon tea? I have a few things I was hoping to talk to you about," Professor Monroe said calmly.

Harry's mouth floundered and he snapped it shut for fear of looking like some sort of idiotic fish. His heart was racing and his insides were torn between being terrified and being beyond elated.

"It's not required at all, of course," Monroe continued on a moment later. "It's not official school business – rather it has to do with my personal studies. You are in no way obligated to come."

"No! I mean, yes! I'll be there," Harry said quickly. "Um... when and where?"

Professor Monroe _smiled_, and Harry felt as if his heart had just stopped beating and all breath had left his lungs.

Merlin's beard was this man beautiful. Harry had never seen a more beautiful human being in his whole life. He was just utterly amazing. Harry felt his head go all foggy and light-headed and his lids felt almost heavy somehow. Like he wanted desperately to just close his eyes and bask in the feeling of being so close.

He could _smell_ the man, he was so close. He smelled like cloves and sandalwood and old books.

"That's great, Mr. Potter. I do appreciate your willingness to indulge me. This afternoon at 3:30 would be nice. You're out of classes by then, yes?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I am," Harry said, shaking his head and trying to stop acting like a blithering idiot.

"My office then. It's on the sixth floor, right-hand corridor. Just after the statue of Martin the Marksman? Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, I know that one," Harry said quickly, nodding his head.

"Fantastic. I'll see you then."

And with that, Professor Monroe left the room and Harry was left there wondering what he was getting himself into and if he'd completely lost his mind for agreeing.

– –

So far Harry hadn't said one word to either Ron or Hermione about his strange obsession and reaction to Professor Monroe, but Harry had a sinking suspicion that Hermione already suspected something was going on with him. She'd caught him staring rather doe-eyed at the man too many times to not have noticed. Ron, in contrast, was utterly oblivious, and Harry was thankful for that. He needed time to sort himself out before he dared talk to Ron about it.

As such, when he told Ron and Hermione that Professor Monroe had invited him for tea, their reactions were quite different. Hermione looked cautiously worried, but was also giving Harry a rather penetrating _look_. Ron, however, was instantly on his guard, reminding Harry that this was a _DADA_ teacher, and he should be wary on principle. Sure, they usually waited until the end of the year before trying to kill Harry, but maybe this one was trying to get it over with quickly.

Hermione looked affronted and annoyed with Ron, but then ended up turning back to Harry with worry in her eyes and told him to be careful.

It hadn't even occurred to Harry to be worried about Professor Monroe trying to do something to _hurt_ him. And really – it probably should have. It made him worry, but the worry was fleeting and soon had completely left his mind as he was instead occupied by his nerves at the prospect of having tea, alone, with Professor Monroe.

Harry found his way up to the sixth floor and paused before Professor Monroe's office trying to calm his racing heart. He reached up and just before he could knock the door was pulled open. Harry's hand remained frozen in mid air for an embarrassingly long moment before he jerked it back down. Professor Monroe stood there, grinning with sly amusement for a moment before taking a step back and gesturing for Harry to enter.

"Mr. Potter, I'm so glad you were willing to come," he said as Harry stepped inside far enough for Monroe to close the door behind him. "Please, take a seat," he said with an inviting wave of his hand.

It was a large office; much larger than the office that had been used by Professors Lockhart, Lupin, and Moody the last three years. It seemed to be separated into two sections – the front section had a large wooden desk with a leather office chair behind it, and two smaller chairs opposite for guests. The rear three-quarters of the room was arranged more like a sitting room. There was a large fireplace set into one wall and surrounded by book cases. In fact book cases took up almost every inch of wall space in the room – and they were full too. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen this many books outside of the library before.

Hermione would _love_ this place.

In front of the large fireplace was a round woven rug over the flagstones and a two-seater couch, and several squashy-looking leather armchairs, arranged in a circle formation around a low wooden round table. On the table was a tray with tea and a selection of biscuits, and it was clear that this was the area that Professor Monroe was motioning towards.

Harry made his way over and sat in one of the chairs, setting his rucksack onto the floor beside it and trying to calm his overcharged nerves. He couldn't help but notice that, despite there being so many shelves, and all of them appearing pretty much full to capacity, that there were still quite a few boxes laying around the room with open lids showing even _more_ books.

Professor Monroe followed him over and sat in the center of the short couch, putting him directly opposite Harry. He leaned forward and began pouring some tea – he asked Harry if he wanted any and Harry mumbled his acceptance, responding appropriately as Monroe asked him how he took it. Harry accepted the cup and saucer and took a biscuit, glad for something to do with his hands.

"When I took this post I made it a point to try and learn as much as I could about what my predecessors had done," Monroe began as he sat back in his own seat comfortably. "I looked over the other Defense teachers notes – not that there were many – looked at student exam results, and spoke with the other professors. This all gave me a good academic viewpoint of how things transpired, but that can only really take a person so far. I also asked several of the portraits and the ghosts for their opinions, since they're the best source of gossip outside of the actual student population, and the students weren't here yet. It didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that it would probably be best if you and I talked."

"You and me? Why?" Harry asked.

"Well, you haven't exactly had the best of luck with Defense professors. Honestly, it's a wonder that you even keep coming back to Hogwarts with as much insanity you seem to have encountered while here. If nothing else, it's perfectly clear that the school's faculty have failed on a grand scale when it comes to guaranteeing your safety. Students shouldn't be encountering life-threatening situations on any sort of regular basis, and from what I've heard, you've been attacked by every single Defense Professor that's been through this school since you started. Is that wrong?"

"Oh... oh, er... yeah, I guess so. But Professor Lupin didn't mean it, he just –" Harry trailed off weakly. "I mean, I don't blame him. I'm not angry with him or anything. He was a brilliant professor."

"Well I do appreciate that you don't fault the poor man simply for his ailment. Just the same, he _was_ at fault for neglecting to take his potion. It's much the same as when an epileptic muggle who suffers from seizures forgets to take his medication, gets behind the wheel of a car and causes an accident. It is true that it is a disease that the man cannot help, but there are preventative measures, and if he fails in his duty to attend to them, and causes injury, he is still held responsible."

Harry blinked in surprise. He found quite a bit of logic in that, actually. He'd never really thought about it either, and it certainly never would have occurred to him to compare a werewolf to an epileptic. Monroe's seemingly open view on werewolves pleased Harry as well.

"But the point of all of this is that I would absolutely hate for any student in my class to be _afraid_ of me or hold any fear that something might happen to them while in my care. I would like to hope that I haven't – and won't ever – personally give you reason to fear me, but considering all that you've apparently been through I would assume you've probably developed a healthy sense of paranoia and caution. Given the track record, there's more than sufficient cause for you to be wary of anyone filling this post. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

Harry blinked rather dumbly for a moment before giving a sort of confused shrug. "I... think so?" he said, but it came out much more like a question.

Monroe chuckled. "I apologize, I tend to ramble sometimes. I'm sure you've noticed my class lectures can often get rather wordy. What I'm getting at, basically, is that I would like to find a way to ease any fears you might hold against me, simply because I am the _Defense Professor._ Just the same, I was unsure what I could possibly do to ease any such fears. How do you prove to someone that you're trustworthy? I really can't _prove_ anything to you – trust must be _earned_. I would still like to try though. I thought that perhaps we could have a talk, one-on-one, and I could give you an opportunity to get to know me and ask me any questions you might have that could aid in lessening any concerns you might hold."

"Oh. Okay," Harry said, feeling a bit dumbstruck.

"Now, are you familiar with a device known as a Fidescio?"

"Er... no."

"Ah, well, it's a device that the Ministry used to use in trials to determine if a person was lying while making testimony. I've got one – just a moment." Monroe paused, reached his arm out with hand outstretched towards the bookshelves to his right and a small glass ball flew from the shelf and right into his hand.

Harry's eyes widened in awe of the small, wordless bit of wandless magic. He'd only ever seen Professor Dumbledore do something like that, and only a few times.

Monroe turned back to face him and showed him the small glass ball in the palm of his hand. It was probably three inches in diameter, with little flecks of stuff and imperfections in it, showing that it was solid through.

"This is a Fidescio. When activated, it will glow red if the person holding it is lying, and glow green if the person is telling the truth, as they see it. Obviously, truth and falsehoods are determined by the individuals perceptions. It has a few other colors as well, varying shades of yellows and oranges are used if the person isn't sure if what they're saying is true or not. The closer to red, the more likely it is that they may be lying, or they believe they might be wrong. There are ways around it, of course. A person with even slight skills in occlumency can cut their mind off from it, and in that case it will simply remain vacant and colorless as it is now. In the last half century it has become more and more common practice for witches and wizards of more well-to-do families, to hire tutors to instruct their children in rudimentary occlumency at a young age, so the device became rather obsolete. People would go up on the stand, block their mind, and it wouldn't do anyone any good. It cast doubt upon the trustworthy of any testimony, but that was just circumstantial and couldn't be used against a person. Some refused to open their mind to it on principle because they saw it as an insult or an infringement on their rights.

"In any case, I'm offering to you, as a sign of my desire to earn some of your trust, to use the Fidescio while we speak."

Harry gaped and looked down at the orb and then back at his teacher again. His first instinct was to say that that really wasn't necessary at all, and that he'd take the man at his word – but then his sense kicked in and told him not to be a naive idiot. No matter how he felt about the man – as irrational as it was or not – he _was_ a Defense teacher and an unknown factor, and Harry really _did_ have a history of things going horribly horribly wrong with them. This really was an opportunity that he shouldn't waste.

"I... okay," Harry finally said and nodded.

"Great," Monroe said with a small grin. He whipped out his wand – again, seemingly out of nowhere, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, how the man did that. Monroe tapped it gently on the top of the ball before returning his wand to it's hiding place up his sleeve. He grasped the ball between his hands and held it casually in his lap.

"I'll start with a bit about myself, how's that?"

"Yeah, sure," Harry nodded and took a sip of his tea.

"Well, my mother was a witch, but my father was a muggle," Monroe began and the ball glowed green from between his hands. "My mother ran away from her family and eloped with him against their wishes, and was cut off completely from them after that. When I was quite young, my mother died and I was left to spend my youth entirely in the muggle world. In fact, I knew next to nothing of magic until my Hogwarts letter came when I was eleven."

Harry's eyes widened slightly and sat forward with a bit more interest. The ball had remained a steady bright green the whole while, although Harry couldn't imagine any reason to lie about such things anyway. Still, it was interesting.

"So on September 1st, 1963, first year Maximilian Monroe sat on a tiny three-legged stool and a dirty old hat called out Ravenclaw before it had barely even touched upon his head,"Monroe chuckled and shrugged. The ball remained green. "I've always had an intense thirst for knowledge. Even when I was a young child before entering the magical world, I hoarded books whenever I could. I'm sure you've noticed I still have a bit of a hording problem."

Harry's eyes glanced around the book-filled room and he grinned slightly and nodded. "Yeah, maybe just a _bit_." Harry joked.

Monroe chuckled and Harry's chest fluttered. "Yes, just a _bit,_" the ball flickered momentarily to yellow, and Harry assumed it was in response to the use of sarcasm. "In any case, I excelled in most of my classes, remained mostly to myself in the early years but had a few close acquaintances," the ball was back to green. "It has actually been one of my few positive dreams for much of my life to eventually teach. I even applied for this very post of Defense instructor upon my graduation. However I was told at the time that I was too young and needed to see more of the world before tackling such a job. So I took a job as the clerk of a small store and saved up some money before departing England and traveling abroad.

"I traveled to many countries over the next decade and learned obscure and rare magics from masters of many forms, and found books and ancient ruins that held secrets that had been lost for ages. It was an eye opening, and incredibly educational experience. I know there are those that believed the only reason I left Britain was to escape the war that had been brewing in the wizarding world – there are even those that would have called me a coward for leaving England during a time of such turmoil, but I never saw my travels as _running_. I _wanted_ to travel. I _needed_ to see those things for myself – experience those magics and the varied people I encountered. Observe, first hand, how other wizarding communities govern and operate.

"It showed me just how terribly flawed our own system here is, actually. I said in class that I prefer things to be practical, but I also highly appreciate the value of tradition. It is when tradition looses it's value and begins to impose impractical burdens that I feel tradition should no longer be taken quite so seriously – or should, at least, take a back seat to the good of the masses, and not simply an adherence to the old ways for the sake of the old ways.

"In contrast, however, I also feel that there are aspects of our ancient traditions that have been lost to us but that need to be brought back to light. We once had such a strong connection with the magic of the world around us – a connection that we strengthened and solidified through rituals and ceremonies. Milestones rituals for our children, yearly holy days where the magic of the world is stronger and better suited for certain purposes than any other day; important truths about our histories and lessons to be learned from them – all forgotten or corrupted by those in power at certain times for the purpose of suiting different individuals' needs.

"It's easy to lose track of these things – to become blind to them – when so deeply buried in them and having grown up surrounded by things and just accepting the status quo as is, because you've never seen it as being any other way. Traveling to other countries and distant lands and seeing how they commune with magic, and how they worship and live, changes things drastically. It shows you how things could be done differently – shows you that things _can_ be done differently.

"No one place has everything right because every country suffers from the same narrow sighted vision that we do, but the value of travel in that regards is that you can see those flaws and those gifts from an objective viewpoint. You can pick out what's worked and what hasn't and take those lessons back with you and apply the knowledge to your own situations. So in that way, I would agree with the Headmaster's assessment that I was too young and inexperienced yet to teach, back when I first applied to be a Defense professor at Hogwarts. I _needed_ to travel, and if I had remained at Hogwarts, my world would have remained small and I never would have seen things the way I eventually did.

"My world had been the small area of muggle London I grew up in; Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade. That was basically it. And that is a very small world, indeed. But my world was expanded a thousand fold, and it was a journey that taught me many things, and not just book knowledge."

Harry was rapt with attention, soaking up every word. Monroe's voice was so smooth and crisp. He was so confident and enthusiastic when he spoke, and everything he said made sense. It was always simple concepts, yet it always seemed as if they were things that Harry had never bothered to think about or realize before. Yet once he'd heard it, it just made _so much sense_. He was surprised he hadn't seen it before.

He also realized that he too, had a very small world. Privet Drive, Diagon Alley, the Burrow, Grimauld Place, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. They were like little floating islands in the clouds and Harry couldn't quite see what lay beyond their individual boundaries.

Monroe shifted the ball that had been still glowing green the whole time, into one hand and used the other to pick up his tea cup and take a drink. He set it down and assumed his earlier position.

"Let's see... well, I suppose you could ask questions at this point. Is there anything you'd like to know?" Monroe asked and Harry blinked blankly in response for a moment.

"Er... I don't know," Harry said, shrugging and trying to get his mind to settle on something. "Uhm, do... er... do you believe me and Dumbledore about Voldemort being back?"

"I believe _you_ about Voldemort being back. Dumbledore himself never saw the man, as I understand it. You, however, are a direct witness and I can't imagine any reason for you to lie about such a thing. These ridiculous claims in the paper about an attention-seeking youth and delusions are hardly worth paying any attention. It's obvious to me that those in control of the Ministry right now are desperate, terrified incompetents.

"They've been skirting by for years doing nothing but twiddling their thumbs, passing meaningless legislation that accomplishes nothing, for the sake of appearing to work while neutering any legislation that might effect any real change. Their jobs have been easy and they've remained in high controlling positions where money flows freely in back room deals and the public is kept blind to the corruption.

"They haven't had to do any real _work_, and the people have been happy because they're too busy and comfortable with their day-to-day lives to realize that their government doesn't care about them. Voldemort being back would mean things would get complicated again. It would mean that they would have to _work _for a change. It would mean that the public would begin to look at them and _expect things_. That terrifies them – Fudge especially. They would do anything to keep that from being a reality, even denying the truth when it could likely lead to the eventual suffering of the people."

Harry gaped. Not only had Monroe said _Voldemort_, instead of all that You-Know-Who nonsense, but Harry had never before heard someone talk that way, so openly and honestly, about the Ministry. Harry hadn't been able to wrap his mind around why the Ministry and the Prophet would be slandering him the way they were. He couldn't understand _why_ the Minister would be so intent on denying what he'd seen and calling him a lair. It just didn't make _sense_ to him. But in one succinct monolog, Professor Monroe had summed up what was probably the exact reasoning behind it.

"I... I never thought of it that way," Harry said quietly, still reeling inside.

"It is _disgusting_ what they're doing to you, Mr. Potter. You, a young man with apparently no competent adult representation, being slandered in a public venue over and over again? It's more than just disgusting, it's libel, but they apparently feel safe in continuing such actions because no action has been taken against _them _to make them stop. So they just get worse and worse as it becomes more and more obvious that you're basically defenseless."

"Action? What do you mean? What could I do?" Harry asked, shaking his head with frustration and feeling that same dark hopelessness he'd felt when he first saw the summer's Prophets when he got to Grimmauld Place during the summer.

"Well for one, you could seek legal representation and _sue them_. What they're doing is against the law, Mr. Potter, and you are still a minor. Hasn't _anyone _told you that?"

"What? No! What do you mean? _Sue_ them?"

"It's called 'libel', Mr. Potter. Libel is a false, malicious statement published in mainstream media. If the defamatory statements are spoken it's called 'slander'. In Scots law, there is actually no legal distinction between libel and slander and all cases are simply defamation – in any case, however, it is all _illegal_, and even more so, when such an action is taken against a minor. You have legal rights, Mr. Potter, and you should be defending yourself against such malicious attacks. Has there really been no adult witch or wizard that has told you any of this before now?"

Harry shook his head, feeling confused and angry. "No! No one!"

"I understand you live with muggles – I suppose they may not be familiar with our laws, but I know that the muggle government has many of the same protections against public libel as we in the wizarding world do."

"I – er, well, my muggle relatives don't really know about any of this... or even _want_ to, for that matter. I certainly wouldn't tell them about any of it, anyway... They don't much like magic."

"Ah... I see," Monroe said softly and gave Harry a look that was more understanding than Harry would have expected. It was almost as if, with that one _look_, Harry knew that Professor Monroe really _did _know. He really _did_ understand. It shook Harry by it's intensity, but then a moment later it was gone.

"Living with muggle guardians, I would expect you have a magical proxy. Has even he or she not discussed any of this with you?"

"A what?"

"When a wizarding child's parents die and that child is placed into the custody of muggles, a magical proxy must be assigned. It's that person's responsibility to check up on the child throughout the course of their life and make sure that they are being raised appropriately. Their power is somewhat limited still – there was legislation in the 60's to give them more power to protect the child, but it was repealed in the 80's by an opposing political faction. Just the same, they are still mandated to do at _least_ yearly visits and once the child gets to be of age for Hogwarts, they are supposed to meet with the child to make sure they understand their fundamental rights and responsibilities as members of a magical society."

Harry shook his head dumbfounded. "No... no, I don't have anyone like that."

"No?" Monroe echoed in surprise and apparent confusion. The globe turned yellow and flickered slightly orange before fading but Harry wasn't paying it much attention anymore. "You _have_ to have one," Monroe insisted and the orb went back to green. "It's legally mandated."

"But I don't. I've never even heard of a magical proxy."

"Well, this is a simple enough thing to straighten out," Monroe said leaning forward and setting the ball down on the table where it went clear again and deactivated. He stretched his arm out towards his desk across the room and with a tiny flutter of his fingers a piece of parchment and a quill went soaring across the space and into his outstretched hand. "It's a simple matter of writing a short note to the Department of Magical Child Welfare and requesting the information. Would you like to write it yourself, or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Harry said, still feeling that hallow, stunned feeling at the thought that there was supposed to be someone looking out for him all these years and yet no one had been. Someone who could have found out about how awful the Dursley's were all those years and maybe _done something_ about it.

Professor Monroe quickly began to write on the paper in tall, sharp script that appeared very clean and precise, just like the man himself. It was almost familiar, actually, but Harry figured he'd just recognized it from class or something. Harry leaned over after a moment to try and read it, but it was difficult from his angle. Soon, Monroe finished and twirled the paper around on the table so it faced Harry.

It was short, quick, and to the point with almost none of the flowery language the man tended to use in his speech. It was a simple request for the name of Harry's legal magical proxy, and nothing more.

"Just sign at the bottom," Monroe instructed, handing Harry the quill that he realized was charmed to have an endless ink reservoir.

Harry put the quill to parchment and wrote out his name in his own scrawling penmanship that looked ugly in comparison to his professors neat writing above.

"Now, since this is a request for sealed information, you need to provide proof that you are who you claim you are, so you'll need to cast your personal legal seal on it."

"My what?" Harry asked with a frown.

Monroe blinked, then gave a small sigh and shook his head. "This is why _all_ children raised in the muggle world need better introductory lessons. This is the sort of thing that your proxy is responsible for telling you, in fact. Anyway, there is a spell that is used for signing official documents to prove that you are who you say you are. It cannot be forged. First, it requires a small drop of blood; then you press your wand tip to it and say _sigillum sanguis_. The bit of blood will transform into wax and take on the appearance of your family or personal seal, or in the case of most muggleborn, just their initials. It will be imbibed with the signature of your wand, your magic, and your blood."

"Oh, wow. Yeah, I didn't know that," Harry said, shaking his head slightly.

He turned his attention back to the parchment, paused for only a moment before pulling out his own wand and bringing the tip to his thumb. He cast a very small cutting hex, but still hissed in surprise when he felt the pad of his thumb get sliced open. He quickly let a drop fall on the parchment before sticking his thumb in his mouth.

"Here, let me heal it," Monroe said and Harry pulled his thumb from his mouth and presented it to his teacher. It was barely a moment later that Monroe had aimed his wand and healed the cut completely. Harry smiled gratefully and looked back at the parchment.

"What was the spell again?"

"Sigillum Sanguis."

Harry put his wand into the dark reddish drop of blood, not particularly liking getting the blood on his wand tip, and cast the spell. He felt it work, right off and as he pulled his wand back up, all he saw was what appeared to be a wax seal. He blanched slightly at what was stamped into it. It was small, so it was hard to make out the details, but it almost looked like it was a picture of a shield with a lightening bolt on it.

"My scar?" Harry muttered in disbelief.

"Ah – the rune sowilo. The rune of the sun. It's a powerful symbol."

Harry looked up at his teacher and blinked. "Huh?"

Monroe chuckled. "I take it that you aren't taking ancient runes?"

"Er, no. But my friend Hermione is."

"And she's never pointed it out to you?"

"Pointed out what?"

"That your scar is a rune."

Harry blinked and slowly shook his head. "No... No one's ever mentioned anything like that before."

"Well, then perhaps we'll get back to that later. For now, we can get this sent out," Monroe said picking up the parchment and folding it into thirds before slipping it into an envelope. On the envelope he wrote out 'Department of Magical Child Welfare, Ministry of Magic, London, England' let Harry look over it one last time and then stood up and walked over to the only window the office had. He opened it up, and let out a sharp high pitched whistle. Harry watched with interest as a smokey gray owl appeared a moment later and offered up it's leg. Monroe attached the letter, gave the bird a quick verbal instruction and then let it go.

"Well that's one thing taken care of. You should hear from them in less than a day. There's no reason for it to take any longer than that. Now back to your legal problems. I am entirely of the opinion that you should be seeking legal council. Do you have a solicitor on retainer?"

"No, nothing like that," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Well then you should get one. It'll be a tough decision to make though. You'd be best off enlisting the services of a large firm with the strength and the power to stand up against the Ministry. A small private firm would probably crumble under the pressure. At the same time, you also need to find a solicitor you can trust not to try and take advantage of you. That's another thing that your proxy would normally see to, but seeing as how you may somehow not have one – and if you do, he's obviously seriously neglected his duties – I'm not sure that he or she is a person whose opinion you could really trust with something like this."

Harry scowled darkly and nodded.

"I could probably do a bit of searching and make a small list of lawyers or firms I could recommend. I would of course, also recommend you try asking any others for their opinions... perhaps Professor McGonagall – she is your head of house after all. Are there any other adults you can think of to ask?"

Harry frowned, pondering the question for a moment. All that came to mind were Sirius, Mr. Weasley and the Headmaster, but the headmaster had been avoiding him like the plague, and this didn't seem like something he should bother the man with anyway.

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I can think of a couple."

"Good. You talk with them, and I'll get you a list as well. You can write letters to the various firms and then make the decision for yourself from their responses."

"Okay, but... well, you really think that I could do anything?" Harry asked, skeptically.

"It's a _very_ clear case of libel. Pressing charges won't force them to print a retraction, but it'll stop them from printing anything new. It's a start, at least."

Harry nodded in agreement. It was better than nothing.

"Now, it would appear that we got quite side-tracked, didn't we?" Monroe asked with a chuckle.

"Oh yeah, I guess so," Harry said with a weak laugh. "But I don't really think that there's anything else I would ask anyway... I mean, you've probably been more upfront with me over the last hour than any other professor has been with me... er... ever."

"That's unfortunate," Monroe said softly and Harry ducked his head and shrugged awkwardly. "Well, I want you to know, Mr. Potter, that if you ever have any questions – not just about my class or me personally, but just little things – things that you feel like you should know, but because of your being raised outside of the muggle world, you find your education somewhat lacking – that my door is always open for you. I would be more than happy to fill in any gaps in your education. I found myself in very much the same situation when I first came to the wizarding world as a child. My father hadn't even known my mother was a witch when they married, and he never became well informed about them, even afterwards. I had no one, as a child, who could tell me anything, and was rather isolated during my early years at Hogwarts as well."

"I appreciate that. I do, really," Harry said, nodding his head enthusiastically. "I hate it when I come across these things that everyone figures I should just _know_ by now, but I don't. I mean, _no one ever told me_ – how was I supposed to know?" Harry said indignantly before giving a resigned huff. "But then again, I suppose _Hermione_ would probably insist that if I just _read more_ I'd know all sorts of stuff like this. But most of the books assume you know this stuff already too, and none of them really explain anything."

Monroe hummed sympathetically and nodded his head. "It is quite a failing of our education system. Many magical people get frustrated and angry with the muggle-raised for being ignorant of our traditions and our ways, but whenever attempts are made to introduce classes or mandate reading that would fill in the gaps, it's always halted by people on the other side who seem to think such things would make the muggle-raised feel discriminated against or something. Which never really made sense to me. It's not like we're telling the muggle-raised that they have to conform to the old ways, just be aware of them and respect them so that they don't insult people out of pure ignorance. I know that I, as a child, would have appreciated such lessons being available, but they weren't."

Harry nodded his head slowly as he mulled this over. Honestly, the professor had quite a point. He could just imagine how many things wouldn't have caught him by surprise if he'd actually had a class about them – an introduction to wizarding society, sort of class. Things were _still_ always catching him by surprise, and this was the start of his fifth year in the magical world.

Monroe took a moment to drink some more tea and Harry did as well, surprised that it was still warm after all this time. He figured that his professor must have put a warming charm on the cups or something.

"Ah... I almost forgot but..." Monroe began but hesitated and looked like he wasn't sure if he should continue.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Well, it's just something that occurred to me over the summer when I was speaking with one of the ghosts. They mentioned something that sort of re-sparked a bit of silly curiosity in me."

Harry frowned, feeling somewhat confused.

"Well, as you've already noted, I'm a bit of a book hoarder. I'm a hoarder of knowledge, but even if it's a book that probably isn't all that valuable to most, I like to just _have them_ for a collector's sake. I know it's silly, but it's just sort of hard-wired into how I work. So whenever I come across a book that's unique or special in any way, I tend to go out of my way to get it. A number of years ago... oh, I think I was around twenty, so I suppose it really has been a while – I came across an exceptionally rare book. The problem is that it's written in... well, in _parselscript_. Seeing as how the only person about at the time that I know of that could read it was Voldemort, I wasn't about to go asking for help in translating it. So I've just kept it, like a good book hoarder does, and every now and then I'd come across it in my boxes and it would spark that wave of curiosity before I would become resigned again and put it back into storage. _Now_ however, Voldemort isn't the only parselmouth out there. I was wondering if you might possibly be willing to take a look at it?"

Harry gaped. "Wait, there's a way to write down parseltongue?"

"Yes, of course. Most of the magical languages can be written down and read by those who are magically able to understand them. Here, let me go get it," Monroe said as he stood up and walked over to one of the many book shelves, thumbed through things, shifted a few others before exclaiming 'Ah! Here it is!' out loud and then returning to seating area. This time, however, he sat in one of the chairs directly next to Harry, and scooted it over so they were right next to each other. He leaned over and presented Harry with the book.

For a moment Harry just stared at it as if he were afraid it were going to strike at him and bite him, but the book appeared perfectly innocuous. Not that that meant anything. Tom Riddle's diary had appeared perfectly harmless too.

Hesitantly, Harry reached out a slightly shaking hand and accepted the book. The binding was smooth but textured and Harry suspected it was some sort of snake skin. He held it slightly away form himself and opened the book to the first page. The letters were hard to focus on for a moment, but it appeared to be English. It was rather odd, actually – where ever he was focusing on, it was perfectly legible, but it was almost as if the letters were wriggling at his peripheral vision.

"It's in English," Harry said, frowning.

Monroe crowed and Harry looked at him in surprise.

"Brilliant! So you really can read it? Fascinating."

"You can't read it?"

"To someone who isn't a parselmouth, the letters look like little moving snakes, or squiggles and nothing more."

"Oh.."

"Now, this isn't by any means something that you have to do, Mr. Potter," Monroe said quickly with a reassuring smile, "it's not an assignment and I won't hold it against you if you want nothing to do with it, but I really was hoping you might be willing to maybe skim through it and give me some idea as to what the book is about. I wouldn't ask for anything as intensive as a translation, but maybe you could translate the table of contents, the chapter heads and such. Perhaps write up a summary of a section or maybe even a chapter. Just to curb my curiosity a bit," he said, giving Harry a sheepish sort of smile while looking up through his long curled eyelashes, that stirred things up in Harry's lower gut and set his heart to racing again.

Harry swallowed and found himself nodding. "Yeah... yeah, I could probably do that."

"Fantastic! Thank you Harry – I do really appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem," Harry said with a weak smile, feeling warm at the man's pleasure, but slightly overwhelmed by the request. "But er, could we keep it between us? People tend to get all weird whenever they're reminded that I'm a parselmouth."

Monroe's face fell instantly and he gave a frustrated sort of noise and shook his head. "Such small-minded people. It really is ridiculous."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, looking down at his lap.

Suddenly the most wonderful and amazing warmth surged through Harry's entire body and a small shocked gasp escaped his lips. His eyes flew down and there, on his knee, was Professor Monroe's hand gently patting him. A moment later the hand left and with it, the wonderful feeling. Harry nearly whimpered and felt his body sag with regret.

"I'm so sorry that you've been put through so much, Mr. Potter," Monroe was saying as Harry pulled his mind out of the stunned fog it had found itself in. "It seems the world had all these outrageous expectations for you and they forget that you're still a real person. It's not fair to expect so much out of one young man. And what right do any of them have to expect _anything_ from you? You most certainly don't owe _them_ anything. If anything, the wizarding world owes _you_ a great deal. But do they consider that? No, of course not." Monroe sighed and shook his head again. "Ungrateful moronic masses. So eager to follow whatever someone else tells them to think."

A weak, almost manic-sounding laugh seemed to bubble up from Harry's throat and he clamped his mouth shut. "Yeah..." was all he managed to say after ducking his head in embarrassment.

"I can only imagine the hardships you've endured at the end of other people's outrageous expectations," Monroe said gently and lightly placed his hand on Harry's leg again.

Harry's eyes fell closed and he basked in the wonderful warmth. The human contact, freely given; the compassion and understanding in the man's words. The softness of his voice, and the logic of his sentiments. It felt like, for the first time ever, Harry was truly being understood. He felt like some part of him was being wrapped up in a warm blanket and he was being held by someone who cared – someone who would take all his worries away – and he wanted so badly to just lay back in that blanket and those open arms and let go of all of his stress and all of his worries. Let go of the responsibilities and expectations and just let someone take care of him for a while instead.

And then the moment ended abruptly as the hand was removed with a soft pat and Professor Monroe stood up.

Harry was jarred by the sudden crash, but thought he held himself together pretty well, all things considered.

Perhaps his reaction was a bit extreme, but he couldn't quite get his mind to go that far when it was still fogged over and desperately longing for that feeling – that _contact _– to return.

"Oh, I was wondering if you had given any thought to coming to the debate club?" Monroe asked suddenly as he waved his wand and the tea set began to tidy itself up.

"Huh? Oh, er... not really. Hermione really wants to go. She was really excited, and she asked me to go with her, so I'll probably go, I guess. I don't want to really do any of the debating stuff though..."

"I think it would be a good idea for you, actually."

"Oh?" Harry asked, skeptically.

"Learning the art of public speaking isn't all about politicians giving pandering speeches. The debate club sharpens your mental wits and teaches you how to respond and react quickly and most effectively when faced with a verbal argument. Learning good debate techniques can help a great deal in publicly defending yourself as well. I can imagine it's a skill you might need as you grow older. You need to learn how to immediately put your thoughts into coherent arguments in order to best defend your ideas and your instincts. Otherwise people who do have those skills will walk all over you."

"Oh... I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Well, think about it. In the end, it's up to you, but I would definitely enjoy your company at the club," Monroe said with an impish grin that set Harry's heart all a flutter again and he had to fight off a blush.

"I... I'll think about it. Er, well, yeah, I'll be there," Harry finally said a bit more decisively. Monroe smiled widely, looking very pleased, and Harry couldn't help but smile back, feeling wonderful that he'd pleased the man so. He had an amazing smile.

"Great. It's going to be meeting Sunday mornings – and by morning, I mean 10am, so it's not all _that_ early. You can still get a good weekend lay in if you want," he said with a grin and Harry chuckled lightly. We probably won't have a scheduled open debate until late October, I would think. The first meeting will be next Sunday."

"Yeah, okay, I'll be there. I'll tell Hermione too. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

It became obvious that things were drawing to a close at that point. Professor Monroe reiterated that Harry could come to him with any questions or problems and then said he'd make sure to get him a list of solicitors in a day or two. Harry thanked him for the tea and for the talk. They exchanged polite goodbyes and Harry left feeling light and somewhat giddy.

* * *

AN: I've had a few people point out what they think is a plot hole introduced here. Namely, Harry still sees the Thestrils (mentioned in chap 1) but Cedric didn't die in the graveyard (revealed here, in chapter 2). I will tell you that this is not an accident. The events of the graveyard are quite different from cannon and will be described in chapter 3.


	3. Chapter 3

–

"So?"

"So... what?" Harry asked, blankly.

Ron let out a frustrated sort of huff. "So, how did it go? What did he want?" Hermione sat up straighter too, obviously curious as well.

Harry rolled his eyes, but grinned widely as he threw himself down into one of the squashy chairs by the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace, opposite his two friends. "It went fine – _great_, really. He really is brilliant. He said that after digging about, trying to figure out what had gone on with the previous batch of Defense teachers, he figured I'd probably be all paranoid that he'd be out to get me too and wanted to offer himself up to answer any questions and calm any concerns I might have."

Hermione's brow had a little pucker at the brow and she looked pensive. "Well... I suppose that was very thoughtful of him. Did anything seem weird though? Anything suspicious?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Harry shook his head. "It was just tea and we talked. He said that he didn't think that there was anything he could do straight off to prove to me that he could be trusted but wanted to make an attempt. He used this glowing ball that's some sort of lie detector that they used to use in court cases –"

"He had a Fidescio?" Hermione gasped. "Those are really hard to come by! They were supposed to have all been destroyed when the Ministry stopped using them!"

"Yeah, well he's a bit of a pack-rat," Harry said, grinning fondly. "In fact, Hermione, you would _love_ his office. It's huge – way bigger than most of the other teacher's offices – and it's FULL of books."

"Books?" she said, wide eyed and clearly interested.

"Yeah, he says he's a book hoarder," Harry chuckled. "Anyway, he used the fedesco thing –"

"Fidescio," Hermione corrected, but Harry ignored her and kept going.

"And held it while he told me a sort of brief summary of his childhood and going to Hogwarts and then traveling afterwards. He was raised in the muggle world – his dad was a muggle and his mum a witch, but she died when he was a kid and his dad didn't know much about magic so he grew up not really knowing anything about it till Hogwarts. He's a lot like me in that way, I guess. He was sorted into Ravenclaw, and after graduation he applied for the Defense post but the Headmaster told him to get out and see more before applying."

"He probably didn't want someone taking up the post and dying so young," Ron said with a snicker.

"Ron!" Hermione said.

"_Whut_? Everyone knows the post has been cursed for _ages_. They say it's been this way since the 50's, right? And it's not like it's all that unusual for them to end up dead, or good-as-dead by the end of the year."

"Most don't end up dead, Ron," Hermione pointed out tiredly.

"Anyway," Harry said loudly, "we talked about some other stuff too, like the Ministry and them slandering me in the Prophet – or libel, I guess, since it's written. He told me that I have the right to sue them because what they're doing is illegal! Did you know that?"

Hermione blinked. "I... for some reason I assumed that wasn't the case in the magical world. I know that's definitely how it works in the muggle world, but all of the Order members seemed to have it in their minds that there was nothing that could be done to stop it, and since none of them suggested you should try and defend yourself against the attacks, I assumed that the wizarding world didn't have any defamation laws. I mean, that awful woman, Rita Skeeter seems to get away with writing anything and no one ever does anything to stop her."

"Yeah, well no one else has ever mentioned _anything_ about me being able to legally defend myself like that, to me – no one – not until Professor Monroe did. I almost can't believe it's true, but he insists that I should be able to put a stop to it, even if I can't get them to print a retraction. He said he'd put together a list of lawyers I could try to contact and suggested I ask any other adults I trust for suggestions as well. All I could really think of were Mr. Weasley, Lupin, and McGonagall..."

"Well, what about Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.

Harry scowled a bit but diverted his gaze. "He's probably too busy to bother with something like that for me. And he's been avoiding me like I'm got dragon pox or something. He won't even look at me – he wouldn't even look at me during that hearing at the Ministry."

"Harry, I'm sure you're just jumping to conclusions," Hermione said.

Harry just grumbled and shrugged.

"You know, it almost makes me wonder... I mean... I wonder if er, _Snuffles_, has even tried to get a lawyer. I mean, aren't there laws against putting a person in prison without getting a trial first? Couldn't he try to get an appeal, just on those grounds? I mean, we're never going to get Pettigrew back now, so if Snuffles is ever going to get cleared we've _got_ to try something else, right?" Harry asked.

Hermione's eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent gasp. "Oh, Merlin Harry – you're right! At least, that's how it works in the muggle world..." she paused and her eyes seemed to be moving around, seeing things in her mind's eye and her brow furrowed with concentration. "Yes... yes – it's called _Habeas Corpus_ – a writ through which a prisoner can be released from unlawful detention – detention lacking sufficient cause or evidence. It has historically been an important legal instrument safeguarding individual freedom against arbitrary state action. Siri-_Snuffles_ could try to get a solicitor to lodge the writ on his behalf. If it could get some public attention, the Ministry would have to rescind their order to have him given the Kiss on sight. He'd have to get a trial!"

"Yes! Exactly!" Harry exclaimed. "That's brilliant Hermione. I'm going to write Snuffles and ask him if he knows about this. Think you could help me out because I don't think I can remember exactly what it was you just said."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a fond smile before easily agreeing. Harry pulled out some parchment and began to write a letter to his godfather, with Hermione's help.

He sent the letter off with Hedwig, went with his friends to dinner and settled in for an evening in the common room. Even though it had only been one week since school started, he already had what felt like a mountain of homework and it didn't take long for Hermione to start getting on he and Ron's case about not putting it off. Harry gave in with a resigned sigh and started working on an essay for Transfiguration before moving onto an assigned reading for Potions. When his eyes were getting too tired to keep going he called it a night and went up to bed.

Harry woke with a frustrated strangled moan on his lips and pitch blackness filling his vision. His mind was dizzy with a swirl of quickly fading images that seemed to be just beyond his grasp now that he'd begun to rejoin the waking world. Impressions of large, strong hands, _touching_ him. Strong scent filling his noise and a body pressed up against his. Rhythmic thrusting and moans echoed in the quickly fading recesses of his mind, and his cock was rock hard.

Without any hesitation at all he reached down, pulling his pants over his hips and freeing his straining erection. He fisted it and set a quick, almost desperate pace. He _needed_ to come. How _frustrating_ was it to wake up so unfulfilled? He'd been so close – he just knew it – and it'd been _so good_.

_So good, so good... so... so... ugnh!_

Harry had to choke back the grunt that had wanted to escape his parted, panting lips. As it was, he was pretty sure something still got out, he just hoped his room mates were asleep deeply enough as to not have noticed.

The ropes of cum that had shot out over his stomach were quickly cooling and Harry reached to his bedside table to grab a couple tissues from the box there. He mopped up his mess and grimaced at it before tossing the tissues onto the floor, grabbing his wand, and vanishing them.

Wand quickly put back away, Harry rolled over onto his stomach and was back asleep within minutes. He woke the next morning, not even sure if it had happened at all.

– –

The weekend was a diverse dichotomy of distractions. Quite a bit of time was spent with Ron out on the pitch helping him prep and hone his skills for the keeper tryouts that Angelina was holding later the following week. Some of the time was spent on homework, simply because Hermione wouldn't allow them to slack off the whole weekend, but then there were a number of far less enjoyable distractions and concerns.

First was that Seamus's animosity was only growing in annoyance. Harry was getting plenty of _looks_ and it seemed no matter where he went, there were always people who would duck their heads together and _whisper_ about him, but Harry had to share a room with Seamus, and the Irish boy's open anger towards him was starting to get too hard to ignore.

The first night back after the summer holidays, Seamus had made a fuss about how his mum had been reading the Prophet and thought that Harry was just stirring up trouble for attention. Ron had come to Harry's defense, and Harry had defended himself, but Seamus was being a stubborn git and the animosity was growing between them.

Then another shock hit Harry's system when the speckled gray owl that had been sent off with the letter to the Ministry's Department of Magical Children Services had come back with an equally short reply, stating that Harry's Magical Proxy was one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

Harry had sat on his bed, staring at the letter for what felt like an hour without moving. He didn't know what to think, or how to react. What did it mean? Dumbledore had to _know_ what he was supposed to have done as Harry's guardian proxy – right? Harry wondered then if maybe Professor Monroe had been wrong about what a Proxy was supposed to do and had then asked Hermione to help him look them up.

This hadn't done anything to ease his concerns though because Hermione's brief research had turned up three different books that described the duties and responsibilities of a Magical Guardian Proxy, as well as the rise and fall of their power depending on changing legislation. It was true that at one point they had been expected to do a great many things, and were held responsible for any serious failure to attend to those responsibilities, and that many of those things had decreased in the last couple decades – that however did not mean that they were now permitted to completely neglect their duties all together.

Dumbledore _should_ have paid Harry an in-person visit at least once a year, since he was placed with the Dursley's. Dumbledore _should_ have made sure that he wasn't being mistreated, and that he was being fed and clothed and properly taken care of. Dumbledore _should_ have made sure he was informed of the magical world from a young age. And upon reaching the age of 11, Dumbledore was _required by law_, to make sure Harry was provided with literature on certain customs and traditions. A magical child of an old line was not to be permitted to fall ignorant of the wizarding world.

At one point there had been clauses to include Muggleborn in this to some extent. Having them assigned proxies upon their discovery and entrance into the magical world, but that legislation had been repealed in the early 80's... by Dumbledore. In fact, a lot of the legislation that weakened the power of the proxies had been backed or supported by Dumbledore from what Hermione had found in one book on the more important political actions of the Wizengamot over the last few decades.

Harry didn't know what to think. But he did know that he felt horribly, terribly, let down. There had been times when he'd felt guilty for taking up so much of Dumbledore's focus – he'd worried that he was expecting too much from the man who was headmaster of a whole school, and responsible for a lot more children than just Harry. But all this time, the man had been legally assigned the specific task of making sure that Harry was healthy, safe, and _informed. _ What's more, Harry couldn't even excuse it by supposing that maybe Dumbledore was Proxy for a lot of children because it simply wasn't possible. It was illegal to be Proxy for more than one child at a time.

Why hadn't Dumbledore done it? Why had he let Harry remain ignorant for so long? Why hadn't he come and checked on him at the Dursleys?

Harry didn't have any answers, and instead secluded himself into his curtained bed to sulk.

– –

Harry got a letter from Sirius Monday morning at breakfast and cut his meal short so he could go read it. Hermione and a very reluctant Ron had followed his lead and the three had secluded themselves in an empty classroom for privacy.

Sirius thought the suggestion was brilliant. Harry knew that his godfather had been feeling rather hopeless ever since Harry had come back from the graveyard back in June and reported having watched Wormtail being killed by Voldemort's own wand. The whole event still sent horrified shudders down Harry's spine whenever he thought about it – and not just because he'd watched a monster revived and another man killed. It had all begun with a flood of dizzying power that had rushed through his scar, making him black out shortly after seeing Cedric fall to the ground from the stunner. He had woken up some unknown time later to find himself bound to an ancient stone statue marking the final resting place of Tom Riddle Sr. and seeing a frightened Pettigrew coming at him with a knife in hand.

Witnessing the clothed child-like _thing_ being dropped into the giant bubbling cauldron and wishing desperately that it would just _drown_, only to then have his blood taken from him and used in restoring the thing's body – it had been beyond traumatizing.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the memory away. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think...

Mostly... mostly what he didn't want to think about was how _elated_ he had felt as he watched Pettigew writhing on the ground, screaming for mercy after the newly risen Voldemort had turned his wand on him. Had that been Voldemort's elation – or had it actually been his own? The most disturbing thing was that Harry didn't know. He had wanted the man to suffer. But had _he_ wanted that, or was it Voldemort? Harry also didn't want to think about the way Voldemort had looked at Harry and asked him if he enjoyed seeing the man who had betrayed his parents, suffer. He had asked Harry if he wanted him to stop – said that Harry could stop Pettigrew's suffering at any time, and yet Harry hadn't said a word.

And Harry _definitely_ didn't want to think about how Voldemort had said he was doing it all just for Harry. That Pettigrew's punishment was his gift to Harry. He hadn't understood that. It didn't make sense. Why would Voldemort give him a gift at all? Voldemort had needed Harry's blood to be resurrected, but he'd needed Pettigrew's hand too, and Pettigrew had taken care of him all those months – surely Voldemort owed Pettigrew a lot more than Harry, and yet he had killed Pettigrew for Harry? It was just bewildering and confusing.

Harry had been so confused and overwhelmed during the entire ordeal – he told himself he wasn't in his right mind to tell Voldemort to stop. His head had felt like it was filled with too much air, and his thoughts couldn't quite get themselves in order properly. He wasn't sure if his scar hurt or felt _good_, and that thought just horrified him beyond rational description.

He kept blacking out of consciousness, he thought, or at least his vision kept going in and out. At some point, Pettigew had stopped screaming and crying and Harry's head had lulled sluggishly to the side, watching the serpentine thing that was Voldemort, walking casually around the twilight graveyard.

He had come up close all of a sudden, startling Harry in his dazed state and causing him to flinch back violently, smacking his head against the tombstone he was bound to. And then Voldemort had done _it_ – he'd pressed his finger against Harry's scar and Harry's whole world had exploded. There was just whiteness and stars in his vision and a huge rushing in his ears, as if he were standing right next to a jet engine.

And Voldemort had leaned in close and whispered in his ear in parseltongue, asking Harry if he wanted Pettigrew to die. Asking him if he thought the sniveling little rat deserved it for betraying his best friends in hopes of saving his own hide. How the man had always attached himself to the coat tails of the biggest bully he could find – in school he'd tailed along Harry's father to be an accomplice, rather than a victim – and as soon as he'd gotten out into the big bad world, his cowardice had gotten the better of him and he'd gone running to Voldemort in hopes of repeating the tactic again.

Voldemort had hissed all sorts of things that had been mostly nonsense to Harry's addled mind, but Harry had felt his rage building. Rage at Pettigew. At the man who had betrayed his best friends – who had as good as killed them – and then pinned the blame on Sirius and left him to rot for over a decade in misery and squalor while he lived a comfortable life as a family pet. And in the end he'd croaked out that _yes_... _yes, he did want the man to die._

And Voldemort had cackled and stepped back. He turned his wand on the sniveling little man and shot out the same awful green curse that had killed Harry's parents all those years ago.

And the surge of accomplishment and immense intense glee that had shot through Harry may not have been entirely his own, but he had to admit that some of it was. Some of that _was_ him. And that horrified him more deeply than he'd admitted to anyone else.

After Harry had watched the last of the light leave Pettigrew's beady little eyes, Voldemort slashed his wand in Harry's direction, ending the bindings that held him there and letting him fall in a heap to the ground. Then his wand was tossed to him and Harry fumbled for it, not knowing what to do – just knowing that he didn't want to die.

He'd looked up into Voldemort's piercing, unnatural red eyes, and just like that, the idea had entered his mind that he needed to get the cup – and Cedric – that it would take them back if he could just get to it. It was a portkey and it would take him back! And so he'd rushed over to Cedric's still unconscious body, accio'd the cup, and vanished in a swirl of light as Voldemort stood there and did nothing to stop him.

Harry still didn't know what to make of the fact that he'd gotten away so easily. He'd told Dumbledore what had happened, and according to what Sirius had told Harry later on, Dumbledore had sent people to search the area, but Pettigrew's body was never found. It had been quite a blow to Harry's godfather – knowing that he would never get to exact his personal revenge, or be able to bring the rat bastard out to public light and clear his own name.

It was one of the reasons, Harry suspected, that Sirius had been so horribly down that summer. Being stuck in his mother's old house certainly didn't help matters. But now Hermione's suggestion had given the man new hope and he told Harry that he was making steps towards getting in contact with a solicitor to handle the matter for him.

He told Harry he didn't personally have much in the way of suggestions for Harry's own problem, and then apologized profusely for not having thought of suggesting such a thing himself. Sirius didn't exactly have a lot of faith in magical Britain's legal system, for obvious reasons, but even out side of that, he'd never really taken a lot of interest in it and didn't know thing-one about some of their laws.

As the heir to the family it had been his 'duty' to familiarize himself with politics and laws, so, of course, he hadn't. It was part of the whole teenaged rebellion thing, apparently. Besides, at the time, he knew his younger brother, Regulus, had taken up the reigns with far more interest and sincerity than Sirius himself ever would, and Sirius had been satisfied with that. Now, he held a few regrets – especially if it were possible that he could have demanded a trial all this time, if only he'd had a solicitor on retainer.

Sirius did give Harry the name of the law firm that the Black Family had held on retainer for _years_. And when he said years, he meant decades – nearly a century, in fact. It was a very very old and powerful law firm, and they represented the wealthiest and most powerful of the old blood families. It was this reason that Sirius had always sort of sneered at them and turned his back, but now that he was rather desperate, and they were technically on retainer for his family, he was considering going to them first.

He wasn't sure if they were the right sort for Harry, but theirs was the only name Sirius could give him at this time. He agreed with Harry's teacher's suggestion of getting names from multiple sources, sending them all letters and then picking the one he thought fit him best.

It sounded like good advice, and Harry decided to wait until Professor Monroe had given him a few names – probably that afternoon after Defense – and then send out some letters that evening, if possible.

The rest of the day flew by as any other school day does. Potions was only marginally bearable. Neville managed to explode his potion with only twenty minutes left of class, causing a huge cloud of noxious fumes, and Snape let them out early while loudly berating Neville for his dunderheadedness.

History and Divination were just as throw-away as ever, and Harry wondered why he even bothered to show up sometimes.

Harry found himself excited, nervous, and thrilled to be making his way to Defense. He was eager to see Professor Monroe again; eager for any opportunity to talk to the man again; and eager for whatever would be discussed and practiced in class. He was never sure what to expect, but it had all been brilliant so far, and he was sure it would continue to be so. How could it not be when Professor Monroe was so brilliant?

Once again, Harry seated himself in the front, center, and was quickly entranced by the confident and charismatic voice of the man who was quickly becoming his favorite teacher. The lecture that day was about dueling efficiency – conservation of energy, spells with short incantations and without elaborate wand movements, and chaining appropriate spells in succession. Harry had never even heard of 'spell chaining' before, but it seemed to be a brilliant concept. Basically the idea was that one spell ends with a certain motion, so the next spell you use would start with that motion so they flow smoothly into each other.

He wanted them to go through the spells they knew and list spells that they thought would transition into each other smoothly – that was their homework assignment for the day, in fact. After that, they all went into the back of the classroom and Monroe did some demonstrations, and showed them a few spells that he considered to be especially efficient dueling spells since their incantations were short and their wand movements quick and to the point. He also showed how they transitioned well into several other spells that they already knew.

All in all, Harry thought it was one of the most useful classes he'd ever been in.

When class was over, Monroe asked Harry to stay behind and Harry's heart had begun to race and he'd had to fight off the stupid smile that was threatening to mar his face.

Ron and Hermione told him they'd wait right outside, and Ron gave Monroe a look that was probably supposed to appear scrutinizing and warning, but really just looked sort of stupid. Finally they left and Harry turned to his teacher.

"Class was brilliant," Harry blurted out and then flushed, feeling a bit daft.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I appreciate that," Monroe said, grinning with amusement. "I compiled a short list of legal firms I thought you might consider contacting." He waved his hand towards his desk and a drawer opened and out flew a piece of parchment, right into his hand. He handed it over to Harry and he quickly skimmed it. The one on the top was actually the same firm that Sirius had suggested.

"This is great, thanks," Harry said, smiling enthusiastically.

"I also came across this while unpacking a few more of my boxes and thought you might find some value in it," Monroe continued as another object flew out of the same drawer and into his hand before it was presented to Harry.

It was a small, thin book – almost a pamphlet – with a single symbol on the cover. It was a symbol he was distinctly familiar with, since it had marred his forehead for as long as he could remember.

Harry looked at it wide-eyed and opened it to the first page. _'So-iölo ᛋ Sol ᛋ the Sun'_ it said on the title page.

"Oh... wow," Harry said softly.

"It's a small book dedicated entirely to the rune Sowilo, it's meanings and legends attached to it – the same symbol that marks your forehead, obviously."

"Yeah, I see that. Thanks. I'll check it out. Oh – erm, I haven't really gotten much of a chance to look over that _other_ book yet, but I will. I was waiting until I had a good block of time that I could dedicate to it before I really got into it too much," Harry said, having just remembered the parselmouth book that his professor had given him the week prior.

He suddenly felt rather awful for not having started reading it already. He'd hesitated because he was afraid to read the book in front of his friends, and he hadn't had any opportunity to spend a lot of time without them around. But it occurred to him suddenly that it _was_ important, and he shouldn't let his petty fears hold him back.

"That's fine, Mr. Potter. Really," Monroe said calmly. "Your school work comes first, of course. Don't stress yourself over it."

"No, I'll get on it right away," Harry said shaking his head insistently.

"If that's what you want. Well, you should be on your way – your friends are waiting for you, after all," Monroe said with a small grin. "I'll see you Wednesday morning?"

"You bet," Harry said enthusiastically, looking forward to the next morning workout.

He told his teacher goodbye, feeling happy with how the meeting had gone, as well as still feeling great over the whole class and the things he'd learned. He was actually looking forward to the paper he had to write, since it was interesting working out in his mind what spells to put in what order to get the best chains. He expressed this to Hermione as the trio walked through the corridors towards Gryffindor tower and she beamed at him, relating her own excitement over the subject matter, and wondering why she'd seen so little about the technique in her books, since it was quite brilliant.

Ron admitted it was pretty interesting, but he still thought they were nutters for getting excited about writing a paper on the subject.

That night Harry headed up to bed early, secluded himself behind his curtains and pulled out the two books that Professor Monroe had given him. He looked between the two, trying to decide which to have a go at first. He supposed he needed some parchment and a quill so he could take notes from the parselscript book, since that was the point of the thing.

Professor Monroe wanted to know what the book was about, but couldn't read it. Harry was in the unique position to be able to read the book, so it was a perfectly reasonable request. He'd been rather put off of the whole parseltongue thing ever since second year when everything went tits up over the whole chamber thing. The way the whole school had treated him like a leper when it got out that he was a parselmouth... well, it hadn't exactly left him with a positive impression of his unique 'gift'.

But maybe Professor Monroe was right about that whole thing. That they were just a bunch of close-minded idiots. Honestly, he _was_ right, and Harry knew that. People were _so fickle_. It was so easy for them to turn on him. Seamus and Harry had never been best mates, but they'd always been friendly. They'd always got on great – but now that the Prophet was going off about Harry being an attention-seeking lunatic, Seamus had hopped right on board with everyone else and was buying into it. _Seamus_ – Harry had _lived_ in the same room as the bloke for four years, and yet he could still believe the papers about something like that!

Hell, even Harry's best friends had wavered a few times over the years – well, not really Hermione, but Ron had. No denying that. That mess last fall after Harry's name came out of the cup was only the most extreme example. And _both_ Ron and Hermione had been a bit wary of Harry when the parselmouth thing came out.

People who _knew_ him – the _real him_, he thought – could still so easily be swayed by crazy misinformed prejudices... it was just infuriating, and endlessly frustrating.

What did they know, anyway? Why was it such a big deal that he could talk to snakes? Professor Monroe didn't seem put off by it at all. He was just excited that Harry could do something that would give him access to a curiosity. Access to knowledge that most people didn't have.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it of his angsty brooding thoughts. No point, really, in getting upset about how stupid people were. Harry had a task to do, and he ought to get to it. With that in mind, Harry reached over the side of his bed and pulled his rucksack up next to him so he could fish out some parchment and a self-inking quill.

Using one of his huge history texts that he didn't give two sickles about as a lap desk, he cracked open the parselscript book and started to read. It was a slow start because, even though the letters _did_ automatically translate the squiggly letters into the Latin alphabet in his head, it didn't change the fact that the book itself was written in a rather archaic language. He was fairly sure it was written in middle-English, or maybe even old-English, so it was a bit of a wade for him.

It took him a very bewildered five minutes to remember that a 'þ' was pronounced like 'th', and not like a 'p', which is what he thought it really looked like – once he remembered that (a lesson he'd learned from Hermione back in first year when trying to figure out who Nicholas Flamel was), a number of sentences made a _lot_ more sense. Þi was 'thy', þou was 'thou', þai was 'they'. It was understandably slow-going, but it was hardly the first time he'd had to read some old-as-dust book written in middle-English. The Hogwarts library was full of them, and Hermione had set him to sifting through books of this sort for years, whenever they had something to research.

He found himself not just writing down what the book literally said, but then spending a minute writing down the same sentences in a more modern English, just so he could make some sense of it.

He managed to wade his way through the first paragraph of what he figured was the introduction.

_'A mage naught stronge ofe innare magicks must naught feare weakenes fore he who canne steres in darknes canne join wiþ others a commune wiþ mighte of launde and aire and spek wiþ faerie foalk who cannotte be seene, but canne be fealte. En mass, þi of magick canne comme and prae to leaurds of earthe and gaia a be filled wiþ er mighte. Þi þat canne steres in darknes, wyene bleased by þi leaurds will wield a mighte farre gretear þau any onne mage caud hoppe ta wield alaine.'_

After spending nearly ten minutes trying to wrap his head around that _one_ paragraph, he managed to pull together a translation that he _thought_ was close. Maybe.

_'A mage not strong of the inner magic must not fear weakness for he who can see in the darkness can always join with others and commune with the powers of the land and the air and speak with the faerie folk who cannot be seen, but can be felt. En mass those of magic can come together and pray to the lords of gaia and be filled with her might. Those that can see in the darkness, when blessed by the lords will wield a might far more powerful than any one mage could hope to wield alone.'_

It got quicker after that. With a bit of practice, he got faster at recognizing words and knowing how to actually say them in his head, which made understanding them simpler. After the brief introduction (which took the longest to translate and make sense of), the first chapter, from what he gathered, was mostly about ritual magic done in groups. There were spells to bless the harvest and guarantee a full and fast crop; rituals that Harry finally figured out were for warding a field from pests; rituals to ward off wolves and the like away from herds of livestock; and other such spells that would be useful for people who had to live off the land and in small farm-based villages.

The next section on predicting and 'persuading' the weather was rather impressive to Harry, but all of those spells had to be lead by a powerful 'druid' with a group of other people as aids. Apparently the spells from the first chapter didn't require any one wizard of significant power, just lots of lower-powered people, but if you wanted to do anything big like end a drought and bring rain clouds, or put an end to a snow storm, you had to have one wizard who was exceptionally powerful to act as an anchor and a conduit.

Harry had stopped with the word-for-word translation as he found himself getting more and more into the book. He skimmed through the technical specifics of most of the rituals, more curious as to what sorts of magics these witches and wizards of olden days practiced. It was such a completely different form of magic then what he was taught at Hogwarts. It wasn't all simplified and structured – clean cut and easy – the way the spells that they were taught were. It wasn't about using a wand, performing a certain movement, saying a specific word, and doing a bit of focus. It was more about actually connecting with your own magic, deep inside yourself, mentally manipulating it, and blending it with the ambient magic of the world around until there was no way to determine where one ended and the other began.

It was sort of poetic, and had a beauty to it that Harry hadn't felt about magic in a while. In Hogwarts they were taught spells that had been constructed by a spell crafter. The hard work had been done by someone else, and they just used the spell like a tool to accomplish the desired end result, nice and simple. You didn't have to understand how the magic was manipulating the world to accomplish what it did, you just had to know how to perform the spell and you were set. It still took practice to learn it in the first place, and a lot of practice to get it into your 'muscle memory' so that it was easy to perform whenever you needed it, but it still didn't feel as impressive as what these people did.

They didn't even have wands – Harry had finally figured out that this was why they had to do magic in groups. They were channeling their magic without any sort of focusing aid, so it was harder to pull it out in large quantities. To compensate for this, they'd band together and perform group rituals. It was rather brilliant, really.

About five chapters in, there was a section all about calling on faerie magic, and teaching early beginner magic focusing for children. It was all very fanciful stuff that called to Harry's imagination in a wonderful way. One simple little spell was for lighting a candle by simply blowing on it and Harry was instantly interested in trying it out. After re-reading the passage a couple times to make sure he understood it, he climbed out of bed and grabbed a candle out of one of the wall sconces. The rest of his dorm mates were in bed and he wondered for a moment just how late it was, but quickly shrugged it off and climbed back into bed. He held the candle in front of him, and closed his eyes, trying to _feel_ his magic the way the book had described.

It felt silly that he'd never really tried something like this before – he'd been using magic for more than four years now, and he _knew_ that there was magic inside him, and yet he'd never really tried to _feel_ it and _wield_ it consciously before. Not without his wand being involved.

A few minutes without any success passed and he was beginning to feel frustrated. Finally he decided to just try and blow at the candle and see what would happen. He opened his eyes and stared at the wick for a minute. Finally, feeling determined, he gently blew his breath out over the candle.

Nothing.

He tried breathing slowly; in, then out. Calming himself down and trying to focus on what the book had said for training a young child to feel their magic, deep inside them, and then to blow it out at the candle.

Trying again, slowly he blew out at the candle, but not just _breath_, but something_ more_. A tiny ember flickered on the wick and sparked twice before dying. Harry stared at it and realized that he'd _felt something_ that time. Grinning like a loon, Harry tried again to focus, grabbing onto that _something_ he'd felt stirring in his chest, and hold tight to it while slowly letting another breath of energy pass between his lips.

This time the wick burst into flame and Harry nearly crowed with delight – only just barely catching himself for fear of disturbing his room mates.

Grinning wider than ever, Harry blew the candle out and re-lit it several times in a row, growing more and more familiar and comfortable with the feeling each time he did it.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I read a LOT of HP Fanfiction. Every time I encounter a really neat and interesting idea, it sticks with me and those ideas occasionally come back to me while I'm writing. I know that there are a few other stories that I've read that ideas I'm using in this story came from.

I would really like to give credit to every origin of every idea. I really would. The problem is that I read SO MUCH fanfiction I'm I am AWFUL at remembering titles and author names and keeping the various stories straight in my head. So I forget what the stories are called and have trouble finding them again later. Whenever I manage to remember/track down one of the stories that I know I got an idea from, I'll try to mention it in an AN or something.

The only one I can remember right now is** Out of the Night by Raining Ink**. The idea of 'blowing out' a candle came from that. It's a seriously fantastic story and I recommend it, in general, however it's incomplete, and soooo sad that it isn't finished (I'm hardly one to bitch about that, obviously).

Oh! I think I've remembered another one.

This one only partly counts, because I never actually finished reading this story, but I know that reading **Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality by Less Wrong** inspired the idea of having a Defense Professor who was competent and not actually who he seems. In that story, it's actually Quirrell, but not (obviously). But like I said - I never finished that story (Got about 10 chapters in both times I tried to read it).

Anyway, if you spot something and you know that it was inspired by such-and-such story by such-and-such author, just leave a review with the names and I'll add it to my influences credits.

– – – –

This time the wick burst into flame and Harry nearly crowed with delight – only just barely catching himself for fear of disturbing his room mates.

Grinning wider than ever, Harry blew the candle out and re-lit it several times in a row, growing more and more familiar and comfortable with the feeling each time he did it.

He went back to the book and found a section on lighting a personal wick-less light in much the same way, using his breath. It sounded like the floating bluebell flames that Hermione would sometimes conjure for them, only this was, once again, done without a wand. Harry felt empowered by his early success and decided to give it a shot.

He finite'd the lumos globe that had been illuminating his curtained bed area, leaving him in nothing but darkness. He held his hand, palm up, in front of his face and focused on that tingly sense of power in his chest that he had only just come to understand was there. Blowing out a slow breath, he breathed life into a small glowing ball of yellow-orange flame. He nearly dropped it when it grew to be quite hot in his hand, but managed not to. The book said it wouldn't burn, and it was only his fears that he had to contend with.

After staring at the flames in his palm for a minute in delight, he lifted his hand and guided the magic to float out of it and into the air, hovering a bit over his shoulder. The flames existed there, not just because of Harry's own magic, but also because of ambient magic in the air. It was the ambient magic that was supposed to sustain it and hold it in place – Harry just had to direct it and sort of mentally request it's help. He was thrilled to feel a sort of silent acquiescence from _something_, and the little ball of flames just stayed floating there, even when he had removed his own conscious control over it.

It wasn't quite as bright as the lumos he'd been using, but it was a nice gentle glow and it produced warmth that he found quite nice. And it was bright enough to read by, so Harry considered it more than satisfactory and went back to the book.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been reading – engrossed as he was – when he came across the first reminder that this book was written in parselscript. The eighth chapter was about medical magic, and it was the first time Harry had ever seen the phrase 'magick o þi searpente tounge' and the word 'parselmagic'. Magic with it's incantation spoken in parseltongue. Magic that could only be performed by someone who was a parselmouth.

For a moment Harry had thought the author of the book was being rather presumptuous, since most people wouldn't be able to do that sort of magic, but then it registered in his brain that the whole book was written in parselscript and only a parselmouth could possibly be reading the book. The realization made him feel rather silly, and he quickly pressed on, trying to ignore his lapse in attention.

Harry was surprised to find that there was so much healing focus to parselmagic. The book talked about something called a 'Rod of Asclepius', which Harry finally figured out was sort of like a wand that was used by ancient Greek healers who spoke the serpent language. It was a staff with a magical serpent's body wrapped around it from bottom to top, to serve the same sort of purpose that wand cores served now. Then Harry realized that the modern-day symbol for the medical arts – often found on hospitals, ambulances, and medical buildings of all sorts in the muggle world – was a serpent entwined around a staff. It was the same symbol as this ancient magical wand.

The Rod was named for Asciepius, an ancient Greek Healer who was apparently a parselmouth – although the Greek muggles believed he was the son of the 'god' Apollo. He would keep magical snakes and use their power along with his own to draw sickness from people. The shrines dedicated to him were healing centers and were often home to many species of magical snake and places that parselmouth healers would gather in order to tend to the ill.

The book talked about the wizard a bit since many of the spells shown in there were of his or his students and descendents' creations, and then it went on to list a number of said spells and how to perform them.

Almost every one of them required having a magical serpent as a familiar, though, so no matter how much the whole thing intrigued Harry, he wasn't willing to face the wrath of the other students – and the whole of wizarding Britain for that matter – by getting a pet snake.

Still – it made him wonder why there was this huge stigma about parselmouths being evil, when they could specialize in a whole powerful branch of magic that's sole purpose was to heal the sick? It just didn't make any sense!

_Stupid close-minded people._ Harry muttered bitterly in his head.

Harry was probably half-way through the chapter on medical parselmagic when the time and exhaustion finally caught up with him and he fell asleep with the book still in his lap.

Harry woke up with his face smushed up against a piece of crumpled parchment and the pointed corner of the book beneath it, jabbing him in the temple. He blinked rather groggily for a moment before jolting upright and checking the book and the notes he'd taken to make sure he hadn't destroyed them in his sleep. He heaved a sigh once he was sure that things were still in tact and nothing was ripped or overly wrinkled. He was flipping through the book one last time and the last page ended up laying open for a moment before he was about to close it when a word caught his eye and he looked closer.

It was in a single paragraph on the very last page, and a quick skim made him realize that it was a basically a short author's bio.

The author of the book.

This was substantial because the word that had caught Harry's attention was the word '_Slytherin'._

_Salazar Slytherin._

This book was written by – _Salazar Slytherin._

Harry nearly dropped it in shock.

Surely not?

Harry gaped at the book, reeling with disbelief. It was a two-part shock, really. One part of the shock was simply that he had a hard time believing that he could possibly be holding a book that was written by one of the founders of his school. A book that was _ridiculously old_, and probably outrageously valuable. The thing was probably _priceless_!

But the other part of Harry's shock and disbelief was simply because of the impression he'd built up in his mind about what sort of person would write a book like this. That image just didn't mesh with the image he'd built up over the years of what sort of person Slytherin was.

They were just such monumentally different images, Harry couldn't reconcile them, no matter how he tried.

The author of the book _loved_ magic, but he also loved community and people. He was enthusiastic about the people coming together and sharing in the magic of gaia and melding it with their inner magics and each other... He was also a man who held great value in human life, and healing the sick. He saw the fanciful beauty of the children's faerie magic, and spoke of songs and dances performed on the Holy days. He seemed like such a... a _positive_ sort of person. And he loved teaching. Sharing knowledge.

Maybe it wasn't such a far concept to accept? Slytherin had to have loved teaching to have been part of a group of school founders. And a love of community and sharing knowledge – that's the sort of thing that a school founder would feel. It just didn't mesh with the idea Harry had long-held about _Salazar Slytherin._

He snapped out of his stupor and began flipping through the front of the book, looking for any indication, anywhere else, that it was really and truly written by Salazar Slytherin. On the inside of the front cover there was an elaborate looking S S symbol, with the two letters intertwined together that he'd just sort of disregarded before, but now he couldn't help but see it as the founder's initials.

He sat back against his headboard, with his mind still reeling with confusion when his curtain was suddenly pulled back and Harry found himself face-to-face with a sleepy-looking Ron. Harry instantly snapped the book shut and shoved it under some of the parchment on his bed, hoping he didn't look too suspicious or guilty.

Ron blinked and frowned at the place where the book had disappeared to and then at Harry.

"Were you _reading?_ Blimey, Harry, here I thought you were sleeping in and I was gonna have to wake you up. You better not be turning into bloody _Hermione._"

"Er, I only just woke up, actually. I fell asleep reading though, which is why all this stuff is still here."

"Oh. Well, you'd best be getting up. We'll miss breakfast if we take too much longer."

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said as he quickly tried to straighten all of his papers before climbing out of bed and storing it all in his trunk.

It was Tuesday, so there was no Defense class and no morning workout. Harry looked for Professor Monroe at breakfast, but he wasn't there. Not that Harry was very surprised since the man always took breakfast rather early. Harry had Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology that day, and they kept him busy and his mind from wandering too much, but during the lulls in his day he couldn't help but thinking about the parselscript book and it's author.

He'd been rather taken with the book, if he were honest with himself. Once he'd gotten over the difficulty with reading the darn thing and gotten used to the language, he'd found the content fascinating. It just seemed so... _magical_ – which he realized was sort of silly, all things considered. Maybe it was just that it was such an old and different sort of magic than he was used to. It felt more fanciful.

Yet some part of him felt like he should hate anything written by Slytherin on principle. But that was just _stupid_, wasn't it? That was the sort of reasoning that people used for being afraid of Harry when it came out that he was a parselmouth. People jumped to conclusions and made biased decisions based on bad information.

Despite realizing this for himself, Harry was almost sure that others would have a harder time understanding the same concept. Ron, for example, Harry was sure, would want to hate the book on principle. Harry felt fairly confident that Hermione would _love _the book... if she could read it. But since she couldn't, she would probably be hesitant and skeptical of it. In fact... the fact that no one else could read it would probably be a huge problem for him. How was he supposed to convince people that the book had perfectly safe and honestly, quite amazing, magic in it, if he couldn't prove it to them by letting them read it for themselves? They'd just have to take his word on it, and they would be wary and on guard just by the fact that it was written in parselscript at all.

Harry had scowled and brooded in annoyance whenever these thoughts passed through his head. Hermione had tried to get him to talk about whatever was apparently bothering him, but he'd dodged her and insisted he was fine.

He'd been quiet excited about the book, and sharing what he'd learned from it with Hermione the night before – up until he'd woken up this morning to discover who the author was. He'd been fairly sure that he would be able to convince Hermione that it was actually really cool, despite being written in parselscript, up until that point. But knowing now who the author was, he wasn't so sure.

Was Hermione open-minded enough to look past the dark biased stigma that hung from the Slytherin name?

He wanted to think so, but he wasn't _sure_.

Harry called it an early night again and once again secluded himself behind his bed hangings and sat with the book in his lap for several minutes debating what to do. He considered just giving it back to Professor Monroe with what notes he'd taken so far and being done with it. He'd written down loads of stuff from the book so far – probably more than that professor even expected of him for the first chapter and some notes for the rest, so honestly, he'd already done the task. Just the same... he wanted to keep reading it. He wanted to finish the book – it was _interesting_.

Finally, Harry just huffed out an annoyed breath, and set himself up with his notes, history-book lap-desk, and self-inking quill, before cracking the book back open to where he'd left off and resuming his efforts.

The following morning Harry got up early for the morning exercise class. He felt refreshed, despite his late night, and had a vague sense of having rather pleasant dreams. The images were too faded and seemed to slip just beyond his finger tips whenever he tried to remember what he might have dreamed about, but they left a warm tingly curling in his gut.

He showered and ended up relieving some '_tension_' while he was at it, enjoying the privacy one earns by waking up long before anyone else. Images flitted through his mind while he worked his cock with the warm soapy water cascading down his frame, and it wasn't until after he'd cum and cleared his head from the post orgasm fog that he realized he'd been fantasizing about cock.

It wasn't nearly as jarring a realization as he would have expected it to be. He'd already started to question his own preference after his reaction to Professor Monroe – a person who seemed the very ideal of strong masculinity to Harry. But that was just a silly crush on his teacher – not something he could actually pursue. People got crushes on their teachers all the time – heck, Hermione had fancied Lockheart way back in second year.

Harry's mind lingered on these subjects while he dressed in a comfortable tshirt and some sweat pants. He'd wondered a few times about his lack of interest in girls, but always just sort of figured he had too much going on to spare the mental capacity to think about something as stressful as _dating_. The whole debacle with the Yule Ball had practically been traumatizing.

But maybe... maybe he was just gay?

The fact that he wasn't completely freaking out over the thought was probably a fairly positive indication of things. Or maybe he was just too tired and overwhelmed with other things to worry about, to really spare the mental bandwidth for one more perception-altering discovery.

Harry pushed the thoughts from his mind as he came upon the Defense classroom and the other fifth, sixth, and seventh years gathered there. Monroe appeared a minute later, gave a very brief talk and instructed them all to do stretches and then led the group out of the school and on the same path they'd taken before.

An hour later, when everyone was leaving the classroom after they'd been doing some calisthenics for the last half hour. Harry approached his professor and wondered how the man would take what he was going to tell him.

"Professor?" Harry started hesitantly.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. Great job today. Your stamina is quite admirable."

"Oh, er, thanks," Harry said, ducking his head and flushing a bit, and feeling stupid for feeling so utterly thrilled by the simple compliment. "Er, I've been reading that book." Harry hesitated and glanced over his shoulder towards the door as the last of the other students left the room and closed the door behind them.

"Oh yes?" Professor Monroe asked, sounding interested and maybe even a bit excited.

"Yeah, and I've been taking loads of notes too. I'm still a few chapters away from finishing it, and I figured I'd wait until then to put the notes together and bring them, but er... well, I guess I sort of wanted to tell you something I sort of figured out about the book."

"Well, you've got my curiosity piqued. What is it?" Monroe asked as he settled his hip against the edge of his desk.

"Er, well, do you know who wrote it?"

"Who wrote it? I'm assuming that you're asking because it's someone interesting?"

Harry let out a weak sort of laugh and nodded. "Yeah, you could say that. It's er... well, it's Salazar Slytherin."

Harry glanced up worriedly, watching his professor for any reaction. The man's eyes widened slightly before a wide grin spread across his lips.

"My word... that's quite phenomenal, isn't it?" Monroe said in an almost hushed but awed voice.

"Yeah, I mean... I could tell the book was old by the language, but I didn't realize it was _that_ old – you know? I mean, it's got to be priceless – being a book written by one of the founders. Or... well, it would be if you could convince anyone it were true. Seeing as how I'm the only one that can read it, they'd have to take my word for it –"

"I had somewhat suspected..." Monroe said in a thoughtful sort of tone.

"Oh?"

"Well, the insignia on the inside of the front cover was one he often used in his early years according to various historical sources."

"Oh yeah?" Harry asked with interested curiosity.

"Mmm, yes. It was likely from before the school's founding. It's said he often wrote his own text books... so what is the book about? Or at least, the parts you've read so far."

"Oh, it's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed enthusiastically. "I mean, I've never really heard about magic being practiced the way it's described in this book. It's just so... so _magical_!"

Monroe laughed, grinning with obvious mirth. "That's wonderful Harry. I'm trilled that you're enjoying it."

"The first chapter was just sort of fascinating because I could see how the rituals in it would be useful for people who live on farms and stuff a long time ago – it was like, keeping wolves away from livestock and keeping pests out of crops and stuff. But the next section on controlling the weather – I didn't even know we could do that! I mean, I suppose I should have realized, but it still caught me off guard. How come we don't do that more often, nowadays? If we could keep the snow away during Quidditch matches, that'd be brilliant!"

"Ah – yes, weather magic is quite a wondrous thing, and it truly is ridiculous that we cannot practice it anymore in England."

Harry frowned. "We can't? Why not?"

"Back in 1590, North Berwick held a series of witch trials that span over two years and resulted in the torture and execution of over seventy people – this was a full hundred years before the establishment of the Statue of Secrecy of course, and there wasn't yet a Ministry of Magic, per se, but we did have a sort of magical governing body attempting to form order among the magical people of the time. Among the many varied charges thrown about during the witch trials, one of the most severe was the accusation that several of the witches used 'black magic' to summon storms to murder King James VI of Scotland by seeking to sink the ship upon which he traveled. The muggles were especially outraged and they were on quite a rampage.

"The early group that would eventually become the Wizengamot's House of Lords made a deal with the muggles in charge of the trials to put a stop to the trials – as part of the deal, it was agreed that weather magic of such a magnitude would be outlawed. Powers of that level were deemed heresy – effects on such level were deemed too 'god-like' by the muggle bishops to be tolerated. The church was threatening an all-scale crusade against the magic users, and the wizards of the age weren't willing to risk all-out war – they were also being personally threatened, which was probably the largest deciding factor – so they folded to their demands. Weather magic wasn't the only thing sacrificed either.

"But these decisions were made by Lords in secret council, and offered to the muggles to bring peace. To convince the magical masses to actually follow through with the agreement, instead of just ignoring it, a campaign was started to convince the masses that such magic was bad for them, or was in some way connected to evil sacrificial magic, when there was no such connection at all. But without giving the masses some _reason_ to stop using it, many of the witches and wizards would have completely disregarded the agreement, since they held no real respect for the muggles or their demands."

Monroe ended it with an exasperated sort of sigh and shrug.

"But... but that's _stupid!_ And we still have to pay attention to this agreement?"

"It's been grandfathered into newer agreements made with the muggle government over the years, and has been renewed in several treaties. You know, of course, that Britain is still an officially 'Christian' state. The muggle masses may not be all that strict to some of the beliefs, but the Church of England still has a lot of influence in the government, and the higher ups in their order _do _know about us.

"Additionally, the stigma of the magic being _taboo_ or forbidden for some reason has also stuck to the branch of magical study over the years. There are whole branches of magic that have been abandoned because of such political agreements, and in order to appease the masses for the sake of getting the people to cooperate with the treaties, similar 'evil stigmas' have been attached to them as well. People will inaccurately associate a type of magic as 'dark' when in reality, it's nothing of the sort.

"Most people these days really are under the impression that weather manipulation is some sort of so-called 'dark' magic. But it just _isn't_. That's just silly. Ritual magic as a whole is now considered 'dark' as well, but of course, it's not. Even faeire magic is considered dark, because it can be performed without a wand from a young age, and the Ministry of Magic uses wands as a way to control who among the magical communities can perform magic.

"They can prevent an average wizard from performing magic by removing his wand because these days we don't learn how to perform magic without one. Our wands are also how the Ministry tracks underaged magic because from the age of eleven until the age of seventeen, the Ministry has a magical Trace placed upon your wand to detect any magic performed within a radius of it, and whether or not there are any magical adults within that range as well.

"Group ritual magic was banned because now that we _do_ have more advanced channeling devices, if even a small group of skilled wizards get together to perform these old rituals, they could amass a tremendous amount of power between them and perform so-called 'god-like acts' that have been forbidden by our agreements with the muggles. Of course, if people knew that the only reason we weren't allowed to do these things was because the muggles' religions leaders don't want us to, most witches and wizards wouldn't care and they'd do them anyway. So the magical government has intentionally misled the masses. And with our utterly pathetic history education, no one ever bothers to do the proper study to realize the truth."

Harry stared at him in shock. Stunned, and honestly _angered_, to learn that the magic that had so sparked and intrigued his interest was all now _banned_ by the Ministry. And for what reason? Because the muggles didn't understand what it was and were scared and intimidated?

Harry scowled, clenching his jaw in angry frustration. "So... so how did you learn the truth?" Harry asked.

"All you have to do is visit a few other countries and it becomes rather obvious. The stigmas that we have attached to these magics simply don't exist in quite a lot of other countries – and that is entirely because they didn't have the same agreements in place with their muggle governments, or they handled the regulations and restrictions imposed upon them in different ways."

"But... I mean, how can people have been fooled so easily by the Ministry? They'd really give up whole branches of magic that they'd been practicing for ages because the _Ministry_ told them it was dark? Shouldn't they have known better?"

"Well, surely there are people who _know you_ who should _know better_ than to believe the rubbish being printed about you in the Prophet, and yet they still fall into the trap of popular public opinion. The masses are surprisingly easy to manipulate when you know how to do it, and if the Ministry is good at any one thing, it's good at lying to people."

Harry gaped in horror, feeling disgusted. It was _so true_. Professor Monroe was right. People were easily deceived – _so easily_. It was like they were eager to believe whatever they were told by the Ministry, no matter how absurd, or how little proof there was to back it up. It seemed outrageous to Harry that anyone could look at the Faerie magic he'd been so entranced by the last two nights and actually believe that it was _dark_, but people really were fickle.

"A person can be brilliant, Harry," Professor Monroe said gently, "but _people_ are sheep."

Harry's lips parted and he just stared at his professor, finding himself completely lost for words.

"You know, Harry –" his teacher pressed on, pushing himself up off the corner of his desk and pacing gracefully across the space of the classroom in front of Harry, "if a person finds themselves in an emergency situation, let's say they're choking on a piece of meat, they're more likely to get help if there is only one other person near by than if they're in a crowded resturant. If there is just one person, that person will feel obligated to jump up and try to help, however if there is a _group_ of people, it's more likely that they will all just stand there and do nothing, each hoping or expecting that _someone else_ will step forward and do something. It's the diffusion of responsibility. The expectation that _someone else_ will step forward and fix it.

"This is why people can see that something is wrong, and yet they still stand by and do nothing. They expect that someone else – someone who is better or in a better position than they are – will do something about it."

"I'd do something," Harry said, scowling in anger and annoyance. "If I was in a group of people and someone was choking or dying, I'd try to do _something_."

"Ah – yes. Exactly. You see, Harry, you are one of those few people who doesn't feel satisfied to stand aside and watch as something unacceptable happens right in front of you. But because of this, people – the masses – also _expect_ you to be that person who steps forward and does something. If something awful were to happen to threaten the safety of their comfortable lives, they would sit back in the safety of their homes and do nothing, expecting someone like _you_ to save them, no matter how unfair or unreasonable those expectations are. And if you somehow fail to live up to those unreasonable expectations, they _blame you_. Not because you did anything wrong, or failed to protect them – because it was never really your responsibility to do any such thing in the first place – but because they are _weak_."

Harry felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest, it was beating so quickly. It was like Professor Monroe had perfectly expressed in words what Harry had been trying to work out in his head for years. Things that had frustrated and angered him, and bewildered him. Things that had torn him up inside with frustration and confusion. Professor Monroe had summed it up, so simply, and it just _made sense_. It was horrible... but Harry _felt_ the truth in his words.

Monroe heaved a sigh and looked down on Harry with sad, sympathetic eyes before reaching out and gently placing his hand on Harry's shoulder.

A tingling pulse seemed to shiver it's way from Harry's shoulder, and up and down his spine in every direction. Like a wonderful, surprisingly pleasant chill and made Harry release a surprised shuddering breath and close his eyes.

The hand fell away almost as fast as it was there, but an echo of the feeling still lingered, leaving Harry feeling rather off-balance with the intensity of it.

"I suppose we managed to get rather distracted again," Monroe said with a small chuckle. "You're not going to have any time for breakfast if you go back up to your dorm and shower. You'd best hurry."

Harry blinked for a stunned second before his brain caught up with what his teacher had just said. "Oh bugger! Er! Sorry!"

Monroe laughed and made a shooing gesture. "Get off with you now. I'll see you in class on Thursday."

Harry flushed and ducked his head, but grinned up at his professor as he realized the man wasn't going to pitch a fit about his language, and was, in fact, laughing. He gave the man a grateful grin, waved and raced from the room, hoping he could squeeze in a quick shower and still have time to grab some toast and bacon.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: I guess I should warn you that these speedy updates won't be the norm. I just have a stockpile of chapters right now so I'm uploading about two a day while I re-read them and clean up my mistakes. I've got around 170 pages written at the moment. Once I'm caught up and have all of that posted, the updates will be slow. If I maintain what I've been doing lately, I'd say you might see two chapters every two-three weeks.

* * *

The Gryffindor Quidditch team held it's tryouts for the Keeper slot Wednesday evening. Ron was a nervous wreck the whole day, and his mood didn't improve much upon seeing the group gathered in the pitch for the tryouts. Harry tried to be the encouraging friend, but mostly he couldn't really do anything but stand back and watch.

In the end it was a rather brutal two hour tryout, and Ron had only barely done better than the second-best, Cormac McClaggan. Harry mostly found McClaggan a right arse, so he was double-relieved when Angelina declared that Ron had won the coveted keeper position and dismissed everyone else from the pitch. She then told the team what to expect of their practice schedule.

Ron's mood was notably lifted after that was finally over. In fact, he was down-right giddy. So giddy, he even managed to get into it when Harry and Hermione sat down to try and make as complete a list as they could manage of potentially offensive and defensive spells that could be chained together, in preparation for the following day's Defense class.

When Thursday came and Harry eventually made his way to Defense with his two friends, Harry felt pretty confident that he'd come up with a really complete list. The class itself was a huge open discussion where everyone was called upon to talk about some of the chains they'd come up with and try demonstrating them. There was open discussion on which ones were best, which ones could be improved upon, and which could be combined for even better results.

Then Professor Monroe went over three new spells and set everyone to practicing them in succession. Harry felt it was another fantastic defense class, and his friends both agreed, even if maybe not quite as enthusiastically as Harry did. Harry stayed after class and presented Professor Monroe with his notes from the book, but asked the man if he might possibly keep the book a bit longer since he was trying to make a more-detailed translation of the book. Professor Monroe beamed at him and said he was thrilled that Harry was liking it so much, and would love a copy of the translation if Harry really felt like he was up tackling such a task.

He pointed out to Harry that this _was_ his OWLs year, and he didn't want Harry over-stressing himself with extra-curriculars, but Harry shook his head fervently and insisted he was really fascinated by the content of the book, and really wanted to keep working on it.

Friday morning was another early morning exercise class, and Harry spent the jog keeping pace along side his professor and discussing things from the book and class, with enthusiastic interest. He even continued some level of discussion through the calisthenics, which seemed to amuse some of the others there.

One of the 7th year Ravenclaws muttered something that sounded like 'teacher's suck-up' as he passed Harry for the exit when the training class was over. Harry scowled at him and glared with narrowed eyes, but didn't say anything. As soon as the room had cleared out, a warm hand gently rest upon his shoulder, drawing out a quiet gasp from between Harry's lips as that electric jolt shot through him at the contact. Harry turned his head, looking with a side-ways up glance up at his professor standing behind him.

"Ignore them. They're just jealous," Monroe whispered with a conspiratorial smirk before removing his hand and heading for the door. "Have you written those letters to any of the solicitors yet?" He asked conversationally and Harry jogged to catch up and walk along side him as they left the room.

"I wrote letters to four different law firms, but I've only heard back from two of them so far," Harry replied.

"Anything look promising so far?"

"Well, Bangs, Stetson, and Jennings, sounded like they'd probably be pretty likely to really get somewhere," Harry said hesitantly

"But you're not sure how you feel about their reputation?" Monroe offered knowingly.

Harry grimaced and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Look at it this way, Harry – they have a reputation for successfully getting what is in their clients' best interests, at all costs. If the client is the wronged party, they make sure that client is fully defended and compensated. If the client is a good guy, then what's wrong with that?"

"Yeah, but the fact that some of their clients aren't exactly _good guys_ is sort of what puts me off them," harry grumbled with a grimace.

"Who is to say who are the 'good guys'? Good and evil are honestly very childish notions. As you get older you learn that the world really isn't nearly so clean cut; black and white. Things are never really that simple. You will find that very few, if _any_ people ever do something for the sake of being _evil_," Monroe said, exaggerating the word 'evil' comically, earning a small chuckle from Harry.

"It's true that there are some people who have a legitimate mental disorder where they cannot differentiate between acceptable and inappropriate human behaviors. People who are sociopaths, or psychopaths. People who have mental disorders and commit murders for the sake some sort of sick, perverse desire. Those people can probably be labeled as 'evil' by most rational people. However your average, _sane_, person can do things that some people would immaturely label as 'evil', but who are not 'evil' people.

"Say, for example, you hear about a wizard attacking three young muggle teens. He's apprehended and confesses to the crime without any remorse at all. Is this man evil?"

Harry frowned and stopped walking, trying to think about the question rather than just jump to conclusions. "Did he say _why_ he attacked them?" Harry asked cautiously.

"The three muggle boys beat and raped his daughter, and were never punished for it – just obliviated by the Ministry."

Harry blinked and his jaw floundered slightly before he closed his mouth and swallowed. He shook his head. "No... he's not evil."

"But there are some that would see this situation and assume it was an act of muggle hatred. Or they would think that this wizard considered himself superior to the muggles and was attacking them out of prejudice. There is history of wizards being persecuted by the public under these exact circumstances – them labeled as bigoted muggle haters by the press, when in reality the attacks they perpetrated against specific muggles, had very specific motives that had nothing to do with any bigotry.

"And yet, in the press, the story is spun in that direction to serve a politician's cause to gain support or sympathy for some bill or legislation they're pushing at the time. _Always_ question the motives of politicians and any press that lives in a politician's back pocket. But also always question the motives of anyone accused of a crime. Is that person actually _evil_? Did they make a simple but unfortunate mistake? Or did they do the crime with intent, but for a _reason?_ If you took the time to stand in their shoes, and understand their thinking; _their motive_ for taking the course of action that they took – would you still think them evil? Would you really blame them for the crime? Might you even agree with them?

"Always remember – everything is complicated. Nothing is black and white, and the real world is very rarely as simple as _good_ and _evil. _If you look at a crime and the only reason you know of for the person taking such an action is that they were 'evil', then you probably don't know enough about what actually happened."

Harry nodded his head, pondering the professor's words.

"Of course, having a _good reason_ for committing a crime doesn't necessarily make that crime _okay,"_ Monroe continued on a beat later. "I'm not saying that we can excuse their actions, but we can _explain _them, and _understand_ them. Human nature is a very complex beast. To pretend otherwise only makes you naïve. Only the simple-minded man paints the world in black and white. Simple-minded men, and cunning-men who wish to _control_ the simple-minded man.

– –

Harry took advantage of Ron's new dedication to Quidditch to spend a lot of time attending to his own newly developing interests. Ron had enlisted his brothers to toss Quaffles at him on the pitch so he could practice his Keeper techniques – the twins had agreed because it was a free pass to throw large balls at their brother's head. Ron had asked Harry to participate, but Harry had pointed out that he really didn't have a lot of experience with directed aiming with any of the Quidditch balls, outside of the snitch, and that was an entirely different sort of beast, so he was let off the hook.

Hermione talked Harry into going with her to the Library so she could dig out some wizarding law books in hopes of finding some more information that might help out Sirius. Harry started helping out with that as well, but got distracted early on as he came across some records on various bits of legislation banning the use of certain branches of magic and blacklisting them as 'dark'.

For the first time, his mind didn't just assume that this so-called dark magic was, automatically, dark magic. Because... what if it wasn't? What if it was like faerie magic, or the ritual magic that warded away crop pests, or protected sheep from wolves?

Or parselmagic that could help _heal_ people and _save lives_.

That was what sent him off on a tangent, looking up records of other magics that had been banned for being 'dark' and then trying to look up unbiased information about what that magic really did. It wasn't easy actually finding any 'unbiased' information, he found, and over the next few days Harry spent quite a lot of time digging through the library stacks as part of his quest for the truth.

Hermione was so deeply embroiled in her own research, she didn't even seem to realize that Harry was researching a different subject than her. She seemed intent that she was going to fill the void of knowledge that was her understanding of wizarding law, even if Sirius had an actual law firm working to help him more directly now. She had thought she knew a bit about wizarding law, after all the research she conducted trying to clear Buckbeak back in third year, but that had been a very focused study of magical law – the rights of different magical creatures – and the law was a very wide and varied beast in the magical world.

Harry's evenings were once again dedicated to translating the book, but this time he was doing a more thorough job of it. He found that he wanted to have a copy for himself to keep, and the knowledge that he had to eventually give the book back to Professor Monroe, gave him added incentive.

Sunday was the first meeting of the debate club, and Harry found himself just as eager to go as Hermione was – although, mostly Harry was just excited for another opportunity to be around Professor Monroe.

The club was being held in a different room than their Defense classes were held in, and it was a room that Harry hadn't ever actually had any classes in. Upon entering, Harry found a room with six curved rows of seats, placed in front of a slightly raised stage with two podiums on it. Harry and Hermione sat down around the middle and watched as the room slowly filled. Ron had refused to come – insisting he needed the extra sleep and that he'd go out to the pitch with the twins when he did finally get up.

As more people filled the room, Harry found himself surprised by the shear volume of Slytherins present. It looked like nearly every Slytherin from third year and up was there, with only a few exceptions. The second greatest number of students were Ravenclaws. There were hardly any Hufflepuffs at all, and only a handful of Gryffindors. Everyone finally settled into seats and Professor Monroe came in and stood at the front of the room surveying the gathered students. His eyes fell on Harry and a small smile curled his lips. Harry felt his face heat up and he grinned back sheepishly.

"Thank you all for coming," Professor Monroe started, addressing the room. "Welcome to the first meeting of the new Hogwarts Debate Club. While I know that the idea of a 'debate team' seems like a new or unusual sort of idea to some of you, it is hardly anything of the sort. This may be the first time such a group has been organized at Hogwarts, but Debate Teams have existed in organized educational institutions for hundreds of years. As such there are a number of debating formats that have come into favor over the years so there were plenty of me to choose from.

"Debates are usually either held between two-person teams, two-on-two, or between two individuals in a one-on-one debate. We will do both in this club, but more often I will be pitting one student against another to debate a defined topic before the rest of the club members. There will be a panel of judges for each debate that will decide in the end which party 'won' the debate. The winner will earn his or her house a set number of points. In most cases, it will be twenty, but I have plans to hold a few special debates where the reward will be even greater."

He grinned over the class as excited whispers broke out among some of the students.

"We will mostly be following the Parliamentary Debate system for our club, but with some modifications. I will be giving you the topic of the debates one week in advance, so you will still have the opportunity to do some research and gather some evidence. I _do_ expect a certain level of evidence collection for your arguments, however I do not expect anything as extreme as is often used in some of the other popular debate forms.

"The primary alternative to the Parliamentary Debate system is the NDT or the National Debate Tournament format. Four constructive speeches, four rebuttals, and four cross-examination periods. The NDT format is about evidence. Participants would sometimes come in with a box loaded full of collected evidence and they would spend their allotted time rambling off huge quantities of it at high velocity and with very little pretense or persuasion. This method obviously has value in teaching you to properly prepare and gather research materials and evidence, however it is not particularly useful for those of you with political aspirations, as politicians rarely bother with things like _evidence_ when standing before their constituents."

There were snickers among some of the students and amused looks shared among certain groups – mostly Slytherins. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she frowned at them.

"The Parliamentary Debate system is named so because of it's vague resemblance to the debates that take place in the muggle British Parliament, as well as our own Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot. The Parliamentary format holds its emphasis on persuasiveness, logic, and wit. Normally, in the Parliamentary Debate format, the topic isn't established until ten minutes before the debate, and the topic changes with each debate. Since the teams couldn't possibly be expected to research and gather evidence for every topic imaginable, traditionally no research or proof is required _at all _for that format.

"What we will be doing in _this_ club, however, is a sort of combination of the two systems. You will be set into groups and told your topic a week in advance, so you _do_ have time for research, and I will expect you to be able to provide some level of evidence for your arguments, but it will be your delivery and persuasiveness that will effect the outcome of the judges scores the most.

"During our debates, there will be one topic and two sides – the affirmative side and the negative side. The structure of the debates start with the affirmative side given a period of time for their constructive speech, then the negative side gets the same time for their constructive speech. After that the affirmative side is allowed a 2-minute cross-examination where the negative can respond to questions, then the negative takes control for another two-minute cross-examination against the affirmative side. After that the negative gets a five minute rebuttal speech, followed by the affirmative side getting a five minute rebuttal and closing speech. That is the format that we will use. If there are questions, I'll be providing a handout that lists it in more detail shortly.

They went on to discuss more specific rules like what a Point of Information, Point of Order, and Point of Privilege clauses were, and how a person uses them during the debates. Topics were the next thing discussed, and the group of students quickly got into the swing of suggesting things, once Professor Monroe had started giving examples and started asking for the student's opinions.

The topics, or 'resolutions' were all given from the affirmative view, and had to have an opposing side to the argument. They were structured like 'This House believes...' and would go from there. Each suggestion was written down on a slip of parchment and added to a box that they'd be randomly drawn from later.

It didn't surprise Harry in the least when Hermione raised her hand and suggested 'This House believes that keeping House Elves as slaves is unethical and immoral.' Professor Monroe cocked a single brow and Harry thought he saw a glimmer of amusement but the Professor added it to the list, saying it was a great debate topic and thanking Hermione.

The club drew to a close with a few people volunteering to participate in debates for the following week, then being placed in pairs, set to either the affirmative side or the negative side and then given their topics. Harry had felt tempted to volunteer, but his nerves stopped him from actually taking that leap. He wanted to try actually watching a few weeks of these debates before he tried jumping in and giving it a shot himself. Hermione _had_ volunteered, but she hadn't been one of those selected.

When the topics were announced, Harry found that he wasn't even familiar with a number of them, and was glad that he hadn't offered himself up for the first round. Those topics he had heard of were things he didn't have much of an opinion on, but they were clearly issues that some of those participating _did _have opinions on because there were a few that didn't appreciate being on the side of an issue they'd been assigned. A few protested – insisting they'd rather be on the negative side or the affirmative side of which ever issue they'd been assigned.

"Ah, but that's the true sign of a talented political speaker," Monroe said with a sly grin on his face. "Being able to successfully argue a side to the point where the audience is persuaded to see your point, _even when you don't agree_ with it, is a skill that few possess. However there are other motives behind my assigning people to argue a side of an issue they may not agree with. It is an important ability for those who find themselves in political office to be able to understand the opponents side of the argument. This is a skill even fewer possess – especially among those who desire political office.

"People often get so deeply embroiled in their side of the issue that they lose sight of why someone might feel differently about it then they do. It is situations such as these that lead to people vilifying the opposition and losing sight of the fact that, even if someone disagrees with you, it does not make them _evil_. Nor are they necessarily _wrong_. They are not picking the other side of the issue just to make you angry – in fact, it is far more likely that they honestly believe that they have very legitimate reasons for believing what they believe. If you take the time to understand that alternate side of the issue, it will make you and your opponent better able to reach a compromise that will actually benefit the people. And _that_ is what is truly important in leading. You must consider what is good for the realm, not just what's good for your _side_. That is a tendency that few who aspire to political power, honestly have, but one that we must cultivate and promote in our leaders."

Hermione looked pleased with this argument, and Harry definitely agreed as well. Several of the Slytherins appeared to be rolling their eyes, but they certainly weren't going to argue the point further.

– –

The following week passed in the blur of his standard schooling schedule. Classes, meals, homework, the morning jogging on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, and time spent with Hermione in the library.

Ron was getting frustrated with the amount of time Harry was spending with books, and the fact that Harry was now consistently going to 'bed' early and pulling his hangings closed, rather than staying up to play exploding snap or chess with Ron and their other dorm mates.

Now that all of the teams had had their tryouts, the various house teams were starting to book the pitch during the late afternoons and evenings, so he wasn't able to run off and try to practice everyday to keep busy, like he had the week prior. In earlier years, he would drag Harry off with him to do something 'fun', but now Harry was following Hermione to the library, and Ron had no choice but to tag along or find something else to do on his own.

This resulted in Ron doing a lot of whinging, which got on Harry's nerves more often than not. It was one thing when, in the past, Ron would talk Harry into going off to play games, when the only thing Harry had to do otherwise was homework, and he really didn't mind putting that off a bit longer. But _now_ he actually had something he wanted to do – something he found really interesting and _important_, and he just wanted Ron to stop nagging him and let him be.

Harry certainly never would have expected studying history or politics would have ever been a thing he would willingly do outside of some sort of horribly boring and mandatory assignment, but now that he was starting to really look into things, he was finding it surprisingly fascinating. More than that, though, was that he was finding that quite a few of the banned magics he was discovering were all very, _very_ interesting. Perhaps it was the fact that they were supposedly 'forbidden', but part of it was also the fact that these were things that were being hidden from him for blatantly dubious reasons. It wasn't _right_. And it was like people didn't even realize that these things were being withheld from them – they'd _forgotten!_ Lost track of their heritage and history, and entire branches of fascinating magic, all because of political maneuvering that, in most cases, wasn't even valid or important anymore.

The biggest reason that Harry was finding Ron so annoying of late was that a very big part of Harry seriously felt like the things he was researching were _important_. Far more important than running off to play exploding snap with Ron. But Ron didn't understand that – mostly because Ron had no idea what Harry was doing, but still – Harry had told him it was important, and Ron just couldn't understand that.

In addition to time spent in the library, Harry had also exchanged a few more letters with the suggested law firms, as well as another letter with Sirius. Harry finally settled on the Bangs, Stetson, and Jennings as his law firm. It was Mr. Jennings who was personally going to be taking on Harry's defense against the slander and libel from the Prophet, which Harry learned from Professor Monroe was a pretty big deal since he was one of the firm's partners, and Harry could have easily been shoveled off onto one of the junior solicitors that the firm employed.

Harry had signed the papers necessary to have the retainer fee transferred from his vault – a sum that made him rather nervous until Professor Monroe suggested he request a full statement of his holdings from the goblins. That had arrived the following morning at breakfast and Harry had nearly choked on his orange juice when he saw the numbers. Ron had asked Harry what it was and Harry had flushed and quickly hidden it, saying it was just more stuff from his lawyers. The last thing Harry wanted was to stoke Ron's deep-seated jealousy and financial insecurity by letting his mate discover just _how wealthy_ he apparently was.

Harry had known, on some level, that there was a lot of gold in his vault, but he'd never put a number to that thought, and now that he had, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed. But what he _wasn't _feeling, was bad about sending the retainer to the solicitor. It didn't seem nearly as big a fee now with things put into perspective.

It also made Harry wonder suddenly if Sirius might need some help with paying the retainer fee on his own solicitor and sent off a letter to the man asking if he wanted help with that since Harry was eager for things to get started on that front. Sirius had written back sounding rather offended, saying that even if he did need money, he certainly wasn't going to be taking it from his fifteen year old godson's trust account. But then he reassured Harry that money wasn't a problem at all for him because he'd inherited the whole of the Black estate after his mother had died, and while he couldn't personally set foot in Diagon Alley or Gringott's bank, the goblins themselves didn't give two knuts if he was a 'wanted man' by the Ministry – he was still a customer and the owner of a rather substantial account with them. He had to do all of his dealings via secured post, but he still had access to his money.

This did reassure Harry some, but he still felt out of the loop as far as Sirius' attempts to legally clear himself, since Sirius hadn't been willing to talk much on that subject.

With the end of the third week of term drawing to a close, Harry couldn't help but feel like his schedule was considerably more packed this year than it had ever been before. He wasn't sure if it was because of all the extra stuff he'd taken on, all on his own, or if it was just because it was his OWLs year and the teachers were all piling on the work as if their lives depended on it. But one thing Harry knew for sure, he was looking forward to a good night's sleep, and maybe some more pleasant dreams.

– –


	6. Chapter 6

– –

"Harry, are you ever going to tell me what you're actually doing?" Hermione asked seemingly out of no where.

Harry's head shot up and he looked at her with wide eyes as he shuffled a paper from the side of the study desk over so it covered the book that was laying in front of him on the library table.

"Hmm?" Harry asked, innocently.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "Harry, I know you're not looking up stuff to help _Snuffles_ with his defense. I'm not sure you were _ever_ looking that stuff up with me, and you've been coming in here to the library even more often than _I _have! _Me!_ You don't come into the library as a casual activity, you just _don't!_ I know you're all caught up on your homework, so _that's_ not it.So what's really going on?"

"And why can't I come to the library unless school work is involved?" Harry asked, sounding mildly offended. "Why can't I spend a Saturday afternoon in the library? It's nice and peaceful. Quiet. Good work environment."

Hermione just raised her eyebrows at him and Harry huffed and slouched back in his chair.

The place was deserted, which was the only reason Harry had felt comfortable coming there to work on his translation of Slytherin's book. It was hard to work on it only on his bed at night and he had been relieved to feel vaguely safe doing it on an actual table where he could spread his materials out.

The Slytherin Quidditch team had booked the pitch for the whole day for an intensive training session with all the new members. They'd had to replace more than half their team since so many of the old players had graduated the last two years. It was supposed to be quite a spectacle, so a lot of the school had gone out to sit in the stands and watch.

The whole of the Gryffindor team – minus Harry – had gone to 'check out the competition'. Harry didn't see much point for him to go since Crabbe and Goyle had become the new Beaters and they were idiots who couldn't properly coordinate an attack if their lives depended on it. And Malfoy was still Seeker, so there was nothing new there.

"Harry..." Hermione began hesitantly, worrying her bottom lip, "is there a _reason_ you're hiding this? Is something _wrong?_ Please, if something is going on, just _tell us_. We're your friends, Harry. Maybe I can help?"

The worry in her eyes put a weight of guilt on his shoulders and he heaved a bit under the weight before letting out a sigh.

"Okay," he grumbled as he pulled the chair beside him out and motioned for her to sit down. "But nothing is _wrong, _exactly... and I've considered telling you, I just wasn't sure how you'd react, is all. I was afraid you might freak out or jump to conclusions."

"It can't be that bad, Harry," Hermione said as she came over and accepted the seat. Her eyes raked over the papers and curiosity glowed on her face. "What _are_ you doing?"

"I'm translating a book."

Hermione's eyes went wide and she looked at him skeptically. "Translating a book?" she echoed incredulously. "Harry, I didn't think you knew any other languages. Even your Latin is pretty awful. What sort of book could you be translating?"

Harry scowled at her mildly before rolling his eyes. "Think hard, Hermione. Is there really no _second language_ that you can think of that I know?"

She continued to frown as she took a moment to think about this. "No..." she said slowly, shaking her head.

_'Are you sure?'_ Harry hissed out, and Hermione gasped and jumped at the hissing sound that came out of his mouth. Dawning understanding flashed in her eyes and her hand came up to cover her mouth.

"_Oh! _ But... but that can't be possible, can it? You said it was a _book_. I mean... Parseltongue can only be _spoken..._ right?"

Harry pushed the parchment aside so the page he'd been working on was exposed to her view. Hermione's eyes fell upon the page and she gasped again before leaning in to study it more closely.

"Is this... is this _written_ parseltongue?" she asked with an almost awed tone to her voice.

"It's called parselscript," Harry said.

"Harry, where ever did you find this?" she asked, looking up at him with wide questioning eyes.

"It's Professor Monroe's book. I told you about how he collects books. He said that he came across the book when he was in his early 20's when he first started traveling, and even though he couldn't read it, he bought it because it was such a rare find. He's had it collecting dust in a box for ages, but when he realized that by coming to teach at Hogwarts, I would be one of his students and I'm a parselmouth, he brought the book with him in hopes that I might be willing to give it a skim and tell him what it was about."

Hermione's lips were parted in surprised, but she slowly closed them and frowned with worry. "Harry... did _he_ ask you to keep this a secret?" she asked.

"No, no," Harry said shaking his head, "that was my idea. I just remembered how badly everyone freaked out back in second year and I wanted to try and avoid reminding anyone about my _special_ talent, is all. Professor Monroe is actually really open minded about the whole thing. He just sees the book as another source of knowledge. It's another curiosity for him.

"Did you know that parseltongue isn't the only magical language a person can use to talk to animals? There's apparently some people who can talk to birds, or horses, and a few others. Remember last year when Dumbledore talked to the merfolk in the lake? Apparently you can use magic to learn that, which sounds pretty wicked, honestly... Anyway, Professor Monroe told me I didn't _have_ to do it at all – translating the book, I mean – just that he'd really appreciate it if I'd be willing to at least skim it and curb his curiosity."

"But you're actually trying to _translate_ the whole thing?" Hermione asked, looking quite surprised.

Harry's eyes lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. "It's really fascinating! The book was written around 970 B.C.E. so it's _really_ old. It's got some really fascinating sorts of magic in it – totally different than the stuff we learn about now, and the glimpse it gives you into the lives of the witches and wizards who lived at the time is really interesting. I mean, most of the book could just as easily been written in middle-English because it's just as applicable to people who don't speak parseltongue as those who do. It's just about _magic, _you know? But the last few chapters are only applicable to parselmouths, and most all of it's about this really amazing branch of healing magic founded by a Greek wizard named Asclepius.

"He was from back in Ancient Greece and he was a parselmouth. In fact, parselmouths were fairly common back in that time – not like today where it's just me and Voldemort. The Greek muggles thought he was sort of a demi-god. According to their legends, he was the son of Apollo, but it's hard to say how much of that was made up after he died or whatever. Anyway, he used magic that relied on having a serpent as a familiar, and using a rod that had the dried and magically treated body of a certain sort of magical serpent wrapped around it as a sort of make-shift wand. It was a focusing device with a magical 'core' long before witches and wizards were actually using wands to perform magic.

"It gave them an extra boost in power that non-parselmouths didn't have, so they were able to perform advanced healing magic that others couldn't do. The temples dedicated to Asclepius were places of healing. Sick people from all over would trek to the temples and be treated by parselmouth wizards who worked there. It's really interesting! I'd never heard of any of this stuff before. I mean, it makes me wonder where all this negative stigma attached to parselmouths comes from! It's just not fair!"

Hermione looked authentically surprised and interested but hesitated a moment before becoming somewhat pensive looking.

"Well, Harry, I suppose it's probably a result of people having short memories. Maybe parselmouths were once associated with healing magic, but in the last few centuries, it's been more often associated with Dark wizards... Not even just a _few_ centuries. It goes all the way back to Salazar Slytherin – I suppose it's about _British_ parselmouths, then. Perhaps these Greek parselmouths were all about healing, but the only historical figures I've ever heard about from Britain that were parselmouths were all known as Dark wizards. Slytherin was just the first –"

"Slytherin wrote this book." Harry said suddenly and then cringed, wondering if he'd just made a huge mistake.

Hermione's words died in her mouth and she just gaped at him in shock.

"And honestly? I don't think he even _was_ a dark wizard," Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit more defensive and indignant. "At least, he certainly wasn't when he wrote this book. Not any _real_ dark magic anyway."

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw actually dropped a bit lower.

"I mean... it's just _ridiculous_, really. Some of the things in this book are 'technically' labeled by the Ministry in Britain as 'dark' now, but only for political reasons, not because they're actually dangerous or anything. Did you know that the Ministry has labeled faerie magic as _'dark'?_ I mean, how bloody ridiculous is that! _Faerie magic!_"

Hermione frowned in confusion. "Faerie magic?" she questioned.

"It's magic that little kids used to learn hundreds of years ago, but the Ministry banned it because it trains witches and wizards the fundamentals of wandless magic, and the Ministry needed people using wands if they were going to regulate and control magical use. If kids didn't learn the fundamental stuff when they were really young, they'd lose most of the ability to perform wandlessly by the time they reached magical maturity. They become so used to focusing their magic through an amplifier that they lose the ability to do it without one. They become _dependent_ on wands, so when it's taken away, they can't perform magic without it."

Hermione looked notably dubious. "I've never even _heard_ of faerie magic, Harry, and I read _a lot_. And I certainly haven't heard anything about a _wandless _magic for children. And even if that were true, that can't seriously be the only reason that the Ministry would ban it."

"It _was!_ It's just _politics _and control! It's about the people in power controlling the masses through deception and political games. Tricking people into believing that something is dangerous so that they willingly give up something that they deserve and have every right to. The Ministry would never be able to get people to give this stuff up normally, so they have to come up with a convincing enough excuse. Half the stuff that's labeled as 'dark' isn't dark at all – they just called it that, in order to get the people to give it up willingly. It's ridiculous!"

"Where are you getting this stuff, Harry?" Hermione asked, shaking her head.

"If you know where to look, it's pretty obvious, honestly," Harry said, frowning indignantly.

Hermione cocked a single eyebrow. "Oh really? And where exactly do you look?"

Harry huffed in frustration and jumped up before disappearing around the corner towards the restricted section. Hermione's eyes widened and she followed him.

"Harry, what are you doing in there?" she hissed as she looked around cautiously, watching for Madam Pince.

"I got a pass, Hermione, you don't have to worry," Harry said, rolling his eyes as he thumbed through several books before pulling one out, and then another. He went down several more rows, picked out another and then down two shelves before grabbing a fourth. Finally he left with his pile of books and returned to the table with Hermione trailing behind, still looking around nervously as if she were afraid of getting in trouble for even being near the restricted books.

She sat down, watching him with curious eyes as he placed the books in front of her.

"What are these?" she asked, frowning cautiously, worried that he'd just put some books about dark magic down in front of her.

"They're history books."

She blinked and looked at him. "_History_ books?"

"Yes, _history_ books. In the _restricted_ section. How ridiculous is that?" Harry groused.

"But why would _history_ books be restricted?" Hermione asked, baffled.

"Because knowledge is power," Harry grumbled sarcastically, "and history is often rewritten by the victors. These are all really _old_ history books – original printings without modern modifications to fit more modern interpretations of historical events, but they're also the _only _records of certain other things so they can't be removed from the school altogether. Here, look at this one. It's all about the North Berwick witch trials of 1590 and how a single group of wealthy and powerful wizards who were under suspicion for 'witchcraft' and 'black magic' by the Arch Bishop of the muggle church struck a deal with the muggles to get an end put to the trials and get the heat off their own hides, and then how they manipulated the magical peasants of the time to cooperate with the concessions they made to the muggles by claiming a few specific branches of magic were recently discovered to be dark and would taint their magic if they kept using it – even though that magic had been in use for centuries without any 'taint' ever happening before. And there have been studies since that prove that no such taint exists at all, it was just a cover to appease the muggles who were running the witch trials."

He pushed one of the books in front of her and gave her an expectant look. Hermione frowned and hesitated for a moment before her own curiosity and her innate need to read any book placed in front of her, caused her to look down and crack it open. Harry returned to his translation work while Hermione read, each busy in their own little worlds.

"Harry –" Hermione's voice broke in some time later and Harry set his quill down, waiting expectantly. "This is... okay, I don't know what to think, exactly," she hesitated, shaking her head. "Do you have any books that really confirm that these weather rituals didn't somehow cause harm to people? I mean, they _could_ be dangerous – you have to admit..."

"The allegations that witches tried to kill the king of Scotland by using a storm to sink his boat was rubbish," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He reached over and grabbed one of the other books and thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for and put it over top of the book she'd been reading. "Here, read this."

Hermione looked a bit exasperated, but did as he said and a moment later, Harry was back to writing out the translation.

"This is just... it's just... urgh! Is this for real?" Hermione's frustrated and clearly annoyed voice broke through the silence a good twenty minutes later.

"I know!" Harry said, enthusiastically. "It's just outrageous, isn't it?"

"How can people be okay with letting this go on?" Hermione asked.

"It's because they just don't realize it," Harry said, shaking his head and huffing in frustration. "They're just comfortable sitting around, believing what people in charge tell them, and modern Ministry-censored printings of books have recorded, instead of actually doing the digging and finding out the truth for themselves."

"But what about Hogwarts? Why would the professors here put up with this?" Hermione said, shaking her head.

"Who's to say that they even realize the truth? Professor Monroe knows – he told me about this trial, in particular, but I've been looking through loads of books the last week and a half, and I've found about a dozen other examples of stuff, just like it. Loads of more recent stuff too – it's not all just stuff that happened hundreds of years ago. The Ministry is doing stuff like this all the time."

And that was how Harry got Hermione at least _partially _involved in – but mostly just aware of – his research. He started pulling out all of the notes he'd taken, and a bunch more books from the restricted section to show her what all he'd found so far. She was definitely upset with a number of things that had been hidden for blatantly questionable motives and reasoning, but wasn't nearly as upset about the whole thing as Harry was.

Hermione agreed that many of these branches of magic shouldn't be banned anymore, as any valid societal reasons from the time they were banned that existed weren't valid anymore, but thought it was merely lack of awareness and apathy that allowed them to stay on the black lists. She didn't think that it was anything serious and if someone actually petitioned the Ministry, it could probably be repealed, since it was just 'common sense' that these things weren't really dangerous anymore. At the same time, she had other crusades that she already had on her plate, and this wasn't necessarily something she thought was worth sacrificing their OWL revision time for, when they could easily tackle a project like this _after_ they'd left Hogwarts – many of these bans had been on the books for decades or even centuries, and a few years wouldn't make that big of a difference. She considered Sirius, and her house-elf crusade more pressing matters since 'people were actively suffering' in those cases.

Despite Hermione's arguments, Harry couldn't get the subject out of his mind, and found himself staying after Defense class to discuss some of the more frustrating ones with Professor Monroe, who was always willing to take some time to talk with Harry about them. In fact, in the following weeks, it became almost expected that Harry would remain behind as soon as Defense ended. Ron and Hermione attempted to stay behind with him a few times – Ron got so bored the first time, that he didn't try it again, and while Hermione actually participated in Harry and Professor Monroe's chats a few times, she felt a bit left out and out of place when Harry would get so enthusiastic and start going into something that the pair of them had talked about before, leaving her out of the loop. So after a bit, even she gave up trying to stick around, opting to work on revision or homework back in Gryffindor Tower instead.

Harry found himself looking forward to his two afternoons a week spent with Professor Monroe, more than just about any other time of the week. The most exciting thing was when he brought in his still-in-progress translation of Slytherin's book, and the professor offered to teach him how to perform a few of the spells talked about in it. He had experience with a few of them – having practiced the ancient magical arts of other countries a lot in his younger years – so he understood what the book was talking about, even when Harry was confused.

Harry had continued secretly practicing a few of the other small faerie spells on his own, but had hit road blocks with a few of the slightly more complicated spells. He feared he had already become too dependent on his wand, and would be unable to perform any of the more powerful wandless spells, but Professor Monroe insisted that it wasn't too late, at all, and had offered to show him.

After that, Harry had started coming by after his last class on Wednesday, and during his free block on Friday, which fortunately, Professor Monroe had free as well.

Harry was growing increasingly fond of the man – practically in _awe_ of him – and that attraction had yet to abate. If anything, he was finding himself increasingly _more_ attracted to him, and more _aware_ of that attraction as time progressed.

Not only was Harry finding himself more aware of his attraction towards his teacher, but more aware of his sexual side all together. He'd been rather blasé about it before – he'd wank every other day or so, whenever that persistent little itch hit him, or he couldn't get to sleep, or he found himself in the shower with an erection and no one else around – but he didn't put any focus or attention on it outside of that. It was just a casual thing that he did on occasion and then didn't think about until the next time the urge struck him. Now, in stark contrast, he found himself thinking about sex quite a lot. And wanking a heck of a lot more often, too.

His new awareness of his attraction to men might have played a role in this, but he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that he'd never really 'checked out' his classmates before, but now he couldn't quite stop himself from doing it all the time. After the first month of classes had drawn to a close, Harry could catalog in his mind just which of his fellow male students had nice arses, which ones had appealing builds, and which ones held nearly no interest for him at all.

He found that if he fell asleep while working, or just didn't get around to wanking before bed, he was practically guaranteed a wet dream. And while he always woke up remembering that it was extremely pleasant, he could never quite remember anything specific from the dreams. Sometimes little flashes of images and sensation would linger in his mind, just beyond his grasp, for a few minutes after waking, but they would always vanish and leave him feeling bereft and frustrated... and sticky.

Quidditch practices had been a weekly distraction, although Harry did enjoy it, since there really was nothing quite like the freeing sensation of flying on a broom. But the showers after practice had become an issue of confusion and embarrassment. He was relieved to be able to say that he was _not_ attracted to Ron. He was just too much of a brotherly-best-mate for Harry to find himself attracted to the ginger. Ron's _brothers_, however, were another matter entirely. Harry's cock seemed to be especially intrigued by the idea of the two tall, nicely muscled, and _identical_ red-heads.

He even caught himself fantasizing in class a few times about what it would be like to have _both_ of them at the same time. When he caught himself thinking such thoughts, he had quickly squashed them, feeling rather horrified with himself and wondering where he'd even gotten that idea about having his bum licked.

Harry had always been rather clueless about sex in general – the extent of his knowledge was mostly gleamed from dorm-room chatter over the previous four years – and he had considered himself especially ignorant of how sex between two men would work. And yet his subconscious seemed to somehow have come up with a wide array of ideas to work with. Harry's waking fantasies would become quite graphic, in fact, and as more days passed, his wanking sessions were becoming more and more enthusiastic. The hardest thing had been trying to keep himself from fantasizing about Professor Monroe when he had these waking fantasies.

At first, he kept trying to tell himself that he needed to get over his crush on his teacher because it would always remain unrequited, but as his imagination seemed to grow more and more _creative_, another part of his mind started suggesting that there really was no harm in _fantasizing, _as long as he realized he couldn't follow through on any of those fantasies. And so, with only initial hesitation, Harry started letting himself imagine his teacher as he wanked. _Teaching him_, as it were. The fantasizes, more often then not, took part in the classroom, and got more elaborate as the days passed. They also brought about some of the most amazing orgasms Harry could ever remember experiencing. Part of him worried he was becoming obsessed, but he tried to sooth his worries by reminding himself he was fifteen, and honestly, puberty hit most of his classmates several years earlier than this, and if anything, he was behind on these things.

–

The first Hogsmeade weekend was the first weekend in October and Harry ended up using the day to meet with his solicitor, Mr. Paul Jennings, for the first time in-person. They met in a private room of the Three Broomsticks that Mr. Jennings had arranged for, and Mr. Jennings spent the hour-long meeting going over all the steps he was taking, and about to take, against those who had been publicly attacking Harry.

His actions had already been partly successful, as far as Harry was concerned. It had been over two weeks since the last time Harry had seen any articles in the Prophet talking crap about him, but Mr. Jennings was set on getting retractions printed, and was working towards getting monetary compensation for suffering and 'irrepressible damage' to Harry's reputation from certain prominent figures in the Ministry.

Mr. Jennings went on to explain a number of rights that Harry had access to, and that he recommended Harry take advantage of, including taking full controlling ownership over his name and image, since it was what he called 'intangible property', to make sure no one profited off of Harry's name, or tried to claim an association with him on false pretense or for a dangerous or faulty product. Harry was skeptical about the whole thing, but the man did make a persuading argument – especially when he suggested the possibility that someone could try to push through legislation, claiming that Harry endorsed it, when he in fact, did not, or someone could make a toy with his name on it, and then that toy could end up hurting a child and Harry would be associated with that.

Jennings also suggested that Harry work with a Ms. Matthews from the firms PR, or Public Relations, division. He said that Harry did not have nearly enough control over what his image was in the public or in the press, and that left him open for attacks like the ones that had happened this summer, as well as all the nonsense that came out during the Tournament.

The idea of 'interviews' and articles about him in the paper left a nasty taste in Harry's mouth, but Jennings insisted that Harry simply did not have the option of trying to stay out of the limelight and be 'normal' as he insisted he wanted. He said that if Harry refused to give the press and the public anything _real_ to talk about, they'd just make things up to sate the endless appetite for gossip of the masses. He said that, in his experience, giving them nothing was far worse then giving them little bits of information, here and there. And this way, Harry could control what got out.

Harry had relented with a sense of doomed resignation, and expecting the meeting to be about over. However, that was when Mr. Jennings brought up Harry's inherited seats, and Harry had just blinked at him dumbly.

"My what?"

"Your seats in the Wizengamot's House of Lords," Jennings repeated, raising an eyebrow in surprise as it became blatantly obvious that Harry really didn't know what he was talking about. "Has no one ever told you about them?" he asked almost incredulously.

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Not even your Magical Proxy?" he asked, incredulously.

Harry's expression darkened and he scowled. "My Proxy is Dumbledore, and he's never told me _anything_. I didn't even know he was my proxy till about a month ago."

"What! That's absurd!"

"Tell me about it. I read about what they're supposed to do – the yearly visits and making sure the magical child knows about their heritage and stuff – he never did _any_ of that."

Mr. Jennings' eyes narrowed and his face had a hard edge to it. "Dumbledore was always against any legislation that gave Proxy's the power to take a magical child out of the muggle world, but to think that he'd neglect his duties in the care of a child, let alone _you_ especially, in pursuit of an idiotic political agenda... The old fool..." he grumbled in a frustrated tone.

Harry just frowned deeper, hating that betrayed and confused feeling that always filled him when he thought about this.

"Well, the man has clearly neglected his duties as your Proxy. I had wondered, when there had been no involvement from your Proxy in these matters with your defense. I suppose this explains that. You can actually petition to have him removed from the position. In fact, you could easily make a case for emancipation at this point."

"Emancipation?" Harry said, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"There are actually a few factors working in your favor there – first off, you were forced into competing in the Tournament last year, and only _adult_ wizards were supposed to be allowed to participate in that event. Second, is your hearing at the Ministry in August. You were tried before a 'full' seating of the Wizengamot's judicial committee – something which no minor is supposed to be subjected to. It could easily be argued that the Ministry already sees you as an adult, therefore you should get the rights allotted an adult as well."

"What would this mean, exactly?" Harry asked with interest. "If I was emancipated, I mean?"

"Well, for one, you would have rights to vote on your Wizengamot seats," Jennings said with an amused, smug grin.

"Wait, what seats?"

"Ah yes, you seem to be unaware of them. How much do you know about how the Wizengamot functions and what exactly it is?"

"Er... well, it's both our legislative and the higher judicial body," Harry began hesitantly, trying to recall what all he'd read over the past month on it. "It was based off the old Witenagemot – 'Meeting of wise men' – that preceded the muggle's Parliament. Er... I believe it's split in two – the House of Lords and the House of Commons. The people in the House of Commons are elected, or workers for the Ministry."

"Very good! And the House of Lords is occupied by people who gained their votes through right of hereditary peerage," Mr. Jennings said, grinning approvingly. "Unlike the muggle system, the members of our House of Lords can have rights to more than a single vote – those who hold seats in the House of Commons only get one vote on any issue, but Lords can inherit more than a single seat – and often do. Families with seats would often intermarry, but they did not want to lose rights to all of their seats. Say, for example, a man with four hereditary seats has three daughters, but no sons. He could give some of the seats to his children when they reach certain ages, or leave them to his children upon his death. Say for example, his eldest daughter, gets one seat, and she marries another man who has four seats inherited from his family. They now have five seats combined. If they have only one child, that child will likely be given one voting seat upon reaching seventeen for learning purposes, and when he gets older and has gained more trust from his father, he will gain more. It's a cumbersome system, but it's been in place for a very long time."

"Okay," Harry said nodding slowly and processing the details. "So are you saying that I've got seats on the Wizengamot?"

"You have _many_ seats on the Wizengamot," Jennings said with a predatory grin. "Your grandfather was Charlus Potter, and after his father, Johnathan Potter, died, Charlus became Lord over five seats. Charlus married Dorea Black, the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black the Third, and Violetta Bulstrode. Violetta had two seats to her name, and had held on to them most of her life, and ended up giving one to her daughter Cassiopeia, and the other to Dorea. Most of Cygnus' seats were eventually left to his eldest son Pollox, but he did leave one to Dorea, giving her two. Charlus and Dorea only had one son, your father, James Potter, so he got seven seats in total upon their deaths in 1978. James Potter was not a fan of Politics and never took up his seats, or made any votes in the Wizengamot, so to the best of my knowledge they have been vacant all these years."

"So I've got _seven_ votes?" Harry whispered in surprise.

"No, you have fifteen."

"Fifteen!" Harry squeaked. "How do I have fifteen?"

"When a Lord has no heir, they can will their seats to whomever they wish. Over the last decade, a number of Lords and Ladies have left their seats to you, in their wills."

Harry gaped at him, feeling utterly dumbstruck and speechless.

"You actually have more seats, and more _votes_ than any other single individual in the House of Lords, right now. Of course, being a minor, you cannot actually _vote_ them. This is another reason to take steps to remove Dumbledore as your Proxy."

"Just to emancipate me, so I can vote?" Harry asked, frowning.

"No, to remove his _access_ to your votes. Albus Dumbledore, as your Magical Proxy, has the right to vote your seats in your stead. He could have been using _your_ seats, all these years, to vote on legislature without ever consulting you – which is _not_ something a proxy is supposed to do – at least not once the holding wizard has reached the age of eleven."

Harry felt his blood go cold. "Has he?" he whispered, feeling horrified. "Been voting for things with my seats?"

"I would have to look up the records," Jennings said gravely, clearly noting how unsettled Harry was by this.

Harry nodded his head distractedly. "Please do," he said in a quiet, hoarse, voice.

Their meeting concluded shortly after that, and Harry found himself wandering through Hogsmeade in a bit of a daze. In fact, he was so distracted, that he wasn't watching where he was going, and ran right into someone, face first. Harry stumbled in shock and nearly fell over when a pair of strong hands gripped him by the shoulders and steadied him.

The heady rush that coursed through him at the contact took his breath away, and without even thinking, Harry buried his face in the chest of the warm body now holding him. Harry had to bite back a moan as the feeling only intensified, and he pulled in a deep breath of the person's scent.

The familiar scent was what kicked his brain back into gear and he realized with no small amount of horror, what he was doing, and jerked back a step, putting space between him and his teacher.

Harry gaped up in embarrassed horror at the clearly amused face of Professor Monroe, looking down on him with a grin. "Harry? Are you alright?" Professor Monroe asked with a small chuckle. When Harry's face went from shocked horror, to the same deadened despair that had filled him since the end of his meeting with Mr. Jennings, Professor Monroe's amusement died away from his face. "Harry?" he asked more gently now. "What's wrong?"

Harry looked up at the man that had become a mentor of sorts to him, sexual fantasies and unrequited crush, not withstanding, and felt a crushing wave of relief. _This_ was who he needed. More than anything else, he just needed someone – an adult – that he could rely on to take away some of the burden. That person was supposed to be Dumbledore, according to the law. But Harry didn't know what to think about Dumbledore anymore.

"Professor," Harry whispered weakly.

Monroe looked down at him with concern in his clear blue eyes for a moment before reaching his hand out and resting it on Harry's shoulder. "Come on," he said in a reassuring, although also slightly breathless tone, as he began to guide Harry down the street. Harry's eyes tried to slide closed against his will from the warmth and magic that seemed to be swelling up at the point of contact, and yet somehow his feet managed to carry him forward.

Professor Monroe lead him off High Street and onto one of the residential side streets to a narrow two-story house that had a set of stairs along the side of it leading to a small balcony and a door with the number 14-B written on it. Harry was so distracted by the buzzing, and the light-headed fog settling over his brain for such a prolonged period of time, that it wasn't until Professor Monroe took his hand away and pulled out a key for the door that Harry registered what was going on.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, blinking in a daze and trying to clear his head.

"It's a building I own. Some... colleagues of mine use the lower floor on occasion, but I keep a private apartment up here for times when I want to get away from the school."

"Oh," Harry said in surprise as the professor pushed the door open and motioned for Harry to enter.

"Would you like some tea?"

"Er, sure," Harry said awkwardly as he looked around the small room. It was cozy enough, and there were even _more_ books here – something that brought a small grin to Harry's face. There was a large fireplace with Floo against one wall, flanked by a closed door on each side. Opposite the hearth across the room was a small kitchenette with a half-height counter separating it from the sitting room.

Monroe motioned Harry to take a seat on the small couch by the fireplace, and followed him over, surprising Harry by sitting right next to him.

"Zanna," Monroe called out and Harry's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment when suddenly a small _pop_ echoed through the room and a house elf in a tea towel appeared in front of them.

"Master be needing something from Zanna?" the elf squeaked excitedly.

"Yes, Zanna. My guest and I would like some tea. Are there any biscuits?"

The elf went from enthusiastic to devastated in the blink of an eye. "Oh Master, Zanna is beings sorry," she sniffled, "but there are beings no biscuits... Zanna could go out to gets Master and his guest some. Zanna will be going right away, sirs."

"That won't be necessary. Calm yourself Zanna," Professor Monroe said the last bit in a surprisingly commanding tone, but it seemed to do the trick because the house elf stopped sniffling instantly and stood at attention as if waiting for alternate instructions. Monroe turned to Harry questioning, "Have you eaten?"

Harry shook his head.

"There are sandwich supplies, yes?" Monroe asked, now addressing the house elf again.

Her eyes grew large and hopeful again and her head bobbed up and down, causing her overly-large ears to bob about comically.

"Good, then fix us a tray of sandwiches. Bring the tea first. Camomile."

"Yes, Master! Zanna will be doing that right away!" the elf exclaimed excitedly and bounded off to the kitchen.

Harry shifted in his seat, suddenly acutely aware of his proximity to Professor Monroe, sitting on the couch, and the feeling of the heat coming off of the man beside him.

"So... you have a house elf?" Harry said, awkwardly.

"Hmm – yes, they're quite handy."

"Hermione would raise hell if she knew," Harry said with an amused grin.

Professor Monroe chuckled. "Oh yes, Ms. Granger's crusade to _free_ the elves. For such a clever girl, she can be woefully ill-informed at times. I wonder, has she ever asked the elves if they wish to be saved?"

Harry sighed and shook his head. "She insists that they're brainwashed and don't know what they want."

Monroe scoffed lightly and shook his head before sighing. "Ah, well... that is a matter to discuss another time. Now, Harry – what was it that had you so shaken?"

Harry pulled in a deep breath, keeping his eyes trained on his lap as he tried to order his thoughts. Finally he looked up and met eyes with Professor Monroe and felt as if some sort of vice in his chest suddenly released. Then the dam broke and Harry began to talk and talk. He spoke about the betrayal he felt at discovering the Headmaster's neglect of his duties; he spoke of the misery he suffered at the hands of his relatives, and the feeling of being utterly alone. Without even thinking, words about Sirius spilled from his mouth, and how relieved and how filled with _hope_ he had been at the prospect of having a guardian who _wanted him_, and who could finally _take care of him_, the way a young person was supposed to be taken care of by an adult.

No matter how strong he wanted to be – how strong his life had forced him to become and how strong he _pretended_ to be to his friends – part of him was still a small boy who just desperately wanted someone to want him and approve of him. Someone to_ take care of him,_ and protect him_._ But he'd never had that, and Sirius had been like a beacon of light in the pitch darkness. Only for that hope to be ripped away from him, like so many other dreams.

And now he was learning that all this time, even without Pettigrew to prove his godfather's innocence, they could have used legal precedent and a writ of Habeas Corpus to get him off on wrongful imprisonment without due process – that all this time _Dumbledore_ could have been helping, but never did. Never even suggested it! And he was the head of the Wizengamot, so you certainly couldn't claim the man didn't know it was an option! Instead he had left Sirius to hide in a hole and insisted that Harry, once again, return to a muggle home filled with misery and bitter disdain. And for what? A so-called blood protection left by his mother that probably didn't even mean anything anymore since Voldemort had used his blood to resurrect himself.

He told his professor about his meeting with Mr. Jennings and his discovery that he held so many voting seats in the House of Lords, and how Dumbledore could have been using Harry's inherited political power all these years to vote on legislation Harry didn't even agree with. In Harry's research of bills passed and magic suppressed by legislation, he'd come to realize that he didn't agree with a lot of Dumbledore's policies, and that realization had unsettled him quite a lot. Knowing now that the bills Dumbledore had supported and gotten passed, could very well have passed due to Harry's votes, was an entirely horrifying prospect.

Zanna had come and gone with the tea and sandwiches ages ago by this point, and Harry was feeling emotionally and physically wrecked, and yet also somehow relieved to have finally voiced his fears and turmoil to another person.

"Fifteen votes," Professor Monroe said softly after a lengthy silence. "That is quite a substantial number. And quite a heavy responsibility, especially for someone so young."

Harry closed his eyes against the wave of betrayal that once again filled him. He still didn't _know_ for sure if Dumbledore had been using his votes, but somehow, some part of him, was fairly convinced that the man did.

"Do you think that's why he hasn't helped Sirius?" Harry whispered, voicing one of his worst fears.

"Hmm?" Monroe asked.

"If Sirius was found innocent and became my guardian, Dumbledore wouldn't be my Proxy anymore, right?"

"Ah... yes, Harry. That's right. And if he lost his position as Proxy, he would lose access to your seats, and the votes that come with them."

Harry's eyes squeezed shut even tighter and he fought against the urge to scream or vomit.

"I suspect that the sheer quantity of votes you hold the rights to is also a large part of why the Minister has been running such a ludicrous smear campaign against you," Monroe mused and Harry opened his eyes and frowned at him in confusion.

"Huh?"

"Well, there are two possibilities – one, Dumbledore _has_ been using your votes, and the obvious assumption is that he's doing so with your consent, because it's illegal to do so otherwise – or two, he hasn't been using your votes, but there is a generally accepted impression among people that you and he are close and that you trust and respect him. In either case, the assumption is that you will side with him and follow his example. Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge have been at odds for several years now. Cornelius, more often than not, supports the faction within the House of Lords that is in direct opposition of Dumbledore's legislative goals.

"Cornelius is convinced that Dumbledore intends to run for Minister of Magic in the coming years – whether or not that belief is well founded does not negate the fact that this is what Fudge believes. He thinks that Dumbledore is going to do it because the two have been so at odds, politically, and Dumbledore is finally fed up with the man's pandering. Now, Harry – are you aware of how a new Minister of Magic is elected?"

Harry blinked and slowly shook his head. He had assumed that it was just a matter of the people voting them in... "Uhm... there's an election, right?"

"Registered adult witches and wizards are _part_ of the voting process, however, their votes are sectioned off and assigned by district to various members of the House of Commons – for each district that a member from the House of Commons represents, they have to vote for whoever the majority of their district voted for. It is the votes from the House of Commons and the House of Lords that actually elect the Minister, and while the House of Commons representatives have to vote in the direction of their district, the members from the House of Lords can put their votes towards whomever they want. The process appears to be a public representative system, but the votes that make the greatest impact in electing the Minister of Magic are actually the votes of the Lords. You, individually, hold a significant number of votes, and Cornelius no doubt assumes that you would vote for Dumbledore, over him. Therefore, he wishes to discredit both you and Dumbledore, as early as possible, to lessen public support."

Harry gaped for several seconds before he felt himself snap and he let loose a frustrated angry roar.

"I bloody _hate_ this!" he screamed, hunching over and burying his fists in his hair, pulling on it in angry frustration.

"Oh, Harry," Monroe said in a saddened voice and he reached over and rest his hand on Harry's back. Harry instantly felt some of his anger and tension leave him and he let his body fall sideways, leaning into Monroe's side and sighing as the man's arm wrapped around his back reassuringly. His hand brushed up and down gently along Harry's shoulder and side, and Harry shivered at the tingling heady magic that seemed to be vibrating through him at the contact.

It was always so _intense_ when they touched, and part of Harry's mind knew he should wonder about that, but for some reason he never did. It was just _there_ and it felt so _right_ and wonderful that he couldn't possibly question it. In fact, he often longed for those rare instances where Professor Monroe would touch him, and it seemed it had been happening more often lately.

Harry leaned in further, turning his face and burying it Monroe's side, pulling in deep lung fulls of the man's masculine scent.

A small gasp escaped Harry's lips followed by a quiet keening hum as Monroe's hand moved upward and slipped into Harry's hair, carding his fingers through it and massaging Harry's scalp near his forehead. The more direct contact seemed to intensify the pleasant sensations and Harry felt as if his scar were buzzing with the most intense magic he'd ever experienced. All thoughts about Dumbledore and betrayal and political maneuverings had left his mind, and all that was left was the sensation of Monroe's fingers carding through his hair and the gently increasing hum beneath the skin on his forehead.

It was like little electric pulses were being sent from Harry's head, directly down his spine and straight to his cock. It twitched in his pants, and he was vaguely aware of just how hard he'd gotten. He shifted his hips unconsciously, humming needfully at the small friction brought on by the movement, and the continued bombardment of tingling pleasure shooting from the roots of his hair through his whole body.

"Professor," Harry whispered hoarsely as he pushed his face further into the man's side and his hands twitched with the need to touch the man.

"Harry..." Monroe whispered back and Harry nearly moaned at the breathy, _needy_ quality of the man's tone. Some detached part of Harry's mind, wondered for the first time, if his professor might feel the strange magic between them as well, and his chest soared with hope.

Harry opened his heavy-lidded eyes and raised his head, meeting the intense, burning gaze of his professor. He gasped at the sight of the tightly-controlled lust he saw burning in them. He found himself pushing forward, reaching up with his lips, desperately yearning to feel the other man's lips pressed against his own.

Professor Monroe's eyes clouded with doubt and he looked conflicted as the two drew closer, and yet he didn't stop moving. Harry's whole body felt like it was buzzing now, and his heart was racing in his chest. He could feel his blood pounding against his skull, muffled only by the roar of the magic in his ears, calling him closer to the man beside him. It was as if he were a magnet and he'd been trying to fight the pull towards the other man, but could no longer find the will to resist.

Monroe stopped moving, held motionless a mere inch from Harry, and the moment seemed to hang for an eternity before the last vestiges of Harry's control snapped and he lunged forward pressing his lips against his professors.

It was like fireworks had exploded in his chest, his forehead, and his groin, all at once. The sensation was so overwhelming that Harry feared he might pass out. A loud moan escaped Harry's mouth, pressed against his professor's, and he was thrilled beyond words to hear an echoing moan coming from the other man as well.

A strong hand came out and wrapped around Harry's back, pulling him closer while the other fisted Harry's hair tightly causing Harry's lips to part in a surprised gasp. Monroe took advantage of the opening and suddenly began to plunder Harry's mouth with a fervor that Harry had only ever dreamed about in his wildest fantasies. Harry's mind was overwhelmed by lust and euphoria and all he knew was his professor's lips and the delicious licks of magic that seemed to be dancing over his skin and sending shock-waves through his entire system.

He was moaning almost nonstop, completely thrown by how intense everything felt. He had thought _touching_ the man had felt good, but it was nothing compared to _kissing_ him. And the man was clearly a very talented kisser. His lips were demanding, but there was nothing sloppy about it, and the way his tongue probed Harry's mouth was stunningly arousing.

Harry realized in some sort of detached fashion that his hands seemed to be groping about rather erratically. He just needed to _touch, _and they were fisting into Professor Monroe's robes with an aimless desperation. He forced his hands open, releasing the fabric before he ripped it, and instead started moving them about, desperately searching for some opening, so he could touch the man's skin. He just knew if he could touch the man, it would feel even better; but even without that, he somehow felt the intense _need_ for the contact. He _needed_ to be closer. To touch, to _feel_ and explore.

A whimper of relief escaped him as his hands got through the front opening of the robes and found the bottom of his shirt, tucked into his trousers. A few tugs and the fabric was up and Harry's hands were going in.

"_Aaah!"_ Harry nearly screamed, as his palms flattened themselves against Professor Monroe's abdomen.

"Oh _Merlin!"_ Monroe gasped, before diving back in and once again attacking Harry's mouth.

Harry keened into the man's lips, and moved his hands around the smooth muscled planes with a hunger he hadn't known he had before. His exploration was interrupted when he felt his body being shifted and pushed back. Harry whined desperately until he found himself laying back against the side of the couch and suddenly completely covered by his teacher's body.

A gasp, followed by a moan, escaped Harry's lips as the man settled himself between Harry's legs, reached down and pulled one up over his hip and began rutting against him, delivering electric spasms that shot through Harry with each brush of their still clothed cocks. Harry instantly caught on and was arching up and thrusting back against the man with all the fervor of a horny teenager. One of Harry's hands managed to slip back under the shirt and slid around to grasp at Monroe's back while the other explored his chest.

A lusty growl escaped Monroe's mouth, still pressed against Harry's, when the teen brushed his fingers over one of the man's nipples.

Monroe pulled back but his mouth quickly began attacking Harry's jaw and neck, nipping at Harry's flesh and shocking him with the intensity of the pleasure-pain of it. He felt completely at the man's mercy and he'd never felt so alive. His blood was racing, his skin was dancing, his head felt like it was going to explode from an overload of sensation and pure unadulterated pleasure.

He was screaming out obscenities and practically _clawing_ at the other man's back now, desperately chasing that promised pleasure he felt building up, deep inside his groin.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god – _fuck!_ – so close, so _good_," Harry cried out.

"_Yes, yes, yes, that's it – yes, oh Harry –!"_

"_Oh... OH, PROFESSOR!"_

"_YES! Harry!"_

Harry's whole body arched, jerking violently with spasms of pure pleasure, a dozen times more intense than any orgasm he'd ever experienced by wanking. He felt as if he were experiencing the orgasm over and over again over the span of several minutes – echoed back and forth again and again in his head, leaving him a jerking, twitching, moaning mess beneath his equally unruffled teacher.

With one final satisfied moan, Professor Monroe seemed to heave and melt against Harry, settling between Harry and the back of the couch and wrapping his arms around Harry's body possessively while lazily nibbling at Harry's shoulder.

Harry's mind was a hazy world of post-coital bliss and he just hummed happily before drifting off into darkness.

–


	7. Chapter 7

–

"Harry."

"Hmm?"

"You should wake up now."

"Mmm... dun wanna," Harry grumbled and made to turn over but suddenly lurched with surprise as he got a sudden flash of vertigo as he came to realize that if he'd rolled, he would have rolled _off_ the edge of whatever he was on. Harry blinked his eyes and shook his head in confusion, frowning and looking around.

He was on a couch. That was why he had nearly rolled off of something. He twisted a bit, about to sit up when he felt the cold sticky discomfort he'd grown fairly familiar with over the last month, from his unfortunately frequent nighttime emissions. Then it all came back and Harry gasped. He was sitting upright in a flash and he turned, eyes huge, to look at his professor, sitting in an arm chair a few feet away, smiling with smug amusement.

"P-Professor!" Harry gasped, wondering if maybe he'd just fallen asleep on the couch and dreamed the whole thing – if that were the case, he'd probably made noise or rutted in his sleep, and _that_ would be horrifyingly embarrassing. The alternative theory – the one that said what had happened had _really_ happened, seemed too impossible to even consider.

His teacher chuckled. "Honestly, Harry, I think at this point, you've earned the right to call me by my name. At least, when we're alone."

"Y-your name?" Harry stuttered, his mind still in denial that this could be real.

"Maximilian. Or Max, if you want."

"Max," Harry echoed in a whisper.

"Good. Now, you and I clearly cannot go on pretending that there is nothing unusual between the two of us. The reaction that happens when we touch is indescribably intense. Even _I _lost control of myself this time, and that is quite a feat. Granted, I didn't exactly _want_ to fight it, and that didn't help my will power much," he chuckled, and gave Harry a rather lusty leer that set Harry's heart racing again.

"Uwhuh?" Harry said stupidly, and mentally berated himself an instant later for sounding like such a moron.

"Our magic reacts to one another. It's not an unheard of phenomenon, but this is the most extreme example I've ever seen of it."

"Wait – okay, what?" Harry said, sitting up straighter and trying to be a bit more rational so he could make sense of the situation he found himself in.

"Well, everyone's magic has a _frequency_. It develops during childhood, and settles into a constant around puberty when you begin to train your magic. By the time a person reaches adulthood, it's static and does not change. Over the course of history, there have been people who have encountered other witches or wizards that have a magical frequency so similar to their own, that magic can pass between them almost freely. It causes a reaction along the lines of what we've been experiencing."

"Oh," Harry said, his brows raising into his forehead.

"However, like I said, ours is far more intense than anything I've ever seen reported before."

Harry frowned. "Why do you suppose that?"

"I would say..." Professor Monroe... _Maximilian_, said and paused, "I would say that our magical frequencies are not merely similar, but that they are in fact _identical_. Absolutely identical. There is no resistance slowing any magical energy transfer between us. Direct physical contact only activates the connection making it infinitely more intense."

"And that's why we're attracted to each other?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.

"No, that's merely why we experienced such an intense sensation when we touched," Maximilian said, looking up at Harry through his long eyelashes with a bit of a smirk. "Our mutual attraction is an entirely separate occurrence."

"Oh," Harry said again, flushing, and finding himself grinning and feeling quite pleased all of a sudden.

"The question is, what we do now. It _is_ entirely inappropriate for a teacher and a student to engage in such activities – obviously."

Harry's heart sank and his face fell. He swallowed the disappointed lump in his throat and slowly nodded his head. His mind was only just starting to wrap itself around the realization that the amazing thing he'd experienced earlier was _real_, and now he was faced with the hard reality that it wasn't going to happen again.

"However," Maximilian said, smirking at Harry and taking a sip from a cup of tea Harry only just now realized he was holding, "I will not _always_ be your teacher. I haven't made any plans to stay at Hogwarts beyond this one year – given history, I thought it was a safe assumption anyway."

Harry stared at him, trying to wrap his mind around that and a tiny bud of hope bloomed in the back of his mind. "So... so we just can't do anything until the school year is over?" he asked, still feeling rather disappointed, but not nearly as bad as he had a moment before.

Maximilian hummed and gave a sort of one-shouldered shrug. "That, or restrict our actions and make sure to be especially cautious. I would, obviously, prefer to avoid a scandal – and we know it _would_ be a scandal. I would be accused of taking advantage of you – _Harry Potter_ – and probably accused of being a pedophile or something equally idiotic and attention grabbing," he rolled his eyes and chuckled. "The papers would have a field day with it, of course. I would also, no doubt, lose my job. This very well may be the thing that causes my employment there to end, in fact. The position is supposed to be _cursed_ after all. Really, it's not hard to predict the sorts of things that it will cause to happen. Employing a werewolf was like _asking_ for a student to get attacked – honestly, no matter how good of a teacher the man was, Dumbledore was just _asking_ for trouble with that one."

Harry's jaw floundered and his heart pounded. Professor Monroe was being rather flippant with the whole thing, but that all sounded absolutely _awful_ to Harry.

"Would... would you get in trouble with the Ministry? I mean, could you be charged or anything like that?" Harry asked, worriedly.

"The age of consent in the wizarding world is fifteen, so no, there is no legal restriction against the two of us being involved with each other, merely a school policy against teachers and students fraternizing."

"Oh," Harry said feeling a small bit of the weight on his shoulders vanish. "Well, there's that at least," he said with a weak grin before looking down at his lap in embarrassment. Harry's head shot up suddenly as he remembered something. "Oh hey – Mr. Jennings, my solicitor, said that he was going to set me up with their public relations department to help get control over the press's coverage of me, and he came up with this idea for getting me emancipated, so I wouldn't be considered a minor anymore. Would any of that make a difference?"

Maximilian gave a thoughtful nod, humming. "Perhaps – of course, that would only partially soften the blow in a situation should a relationship come to light _after_ I'd already left the school. A teacher and a student involved in a relationship would have rather significant ramifications no matter what, but the news would die down quickly enough. People are always looking for a new bit of gossip."

"How can you be so blasé about it?" Harry asked with incredulous awe. "You act like it wouldn't be that big of a deal if it happened."

"If it happens, it happens. Plus, even _bad _press is _press_," he said with a predatory smirk and a deep chuckle that seemed to go straight to Harry's cock.

Harry frowned and shook his head. "I don't see anything good about _bad_ press. And I should know – it's about the only thing I ever get."

"That's just because you're young and were kept ignorant of your rights and how to protect yourself. People, and the press especially, have just been taking advantage of you. Given the proper touch, someone skilled enough in PR can turn around any story to their advantage."

"I'm not sure if I really approve much of that," Harry said with a sigh as he let himself sink back into the couch.

"Sometimes the only way to change the system is to learn how to best work within it, and then change it from the inside. Trying to tear the system down by force in order to start with a clean slate may seem appealing and easier, but it really isn't."

He had a sort of _knowing_ and vaguely bitter edge to his voice, that sort of nagged at the edge of Harry's mind, but it was quickly pushed away as Maximilian stood up suddenly.

"Well, it's getting late. Most all of the other students have already returned to the castle and dinner will be in less than an hour."

Harry's eyes widened with surprise at the amount of time that had passed and he quickly stood up as well. "Erm... can I use the loo?" he asked, flushing with embarrassment.

Maximilian smirked knowingly and nodded his head. He motioned towards the door on the left of the fireplace and Harry quickly disappeared through it. He pulled out his wand and cringed in anticipation as he cast the gentlest scouring charm he knew. It still felt indescribably uncomfortable. Cleaning his bits with magic was not something he enjoyed, but given the circumstances, it was pretty much his only option. The spell took care of his pants as well, and he adjusted himself and zipped his trousers back up with a sigh. He washed his hands and ran his wet fingers through his hair, scrutinizing his appearance and feeling jittery and giddy at the same time.

Part of him was just starting to register with awed amazement that he really had _snogged_ with his hot Defense professor in the man's private flat, and the man wasn't trying to throw some sort of fit or insist they never do anything like it ever again. Harry pulled in a deep breath and tried to control the excited and nervous jitters. Finally he turned and left the bathroom, looking around cautiously for a moment until he spotted his professor standing by the door, holding Harry's heavy outer cloak.

Harry walked over and gave the other man a sheepish smile before accepting it and putting it on.

"I hope I'll still be seeing you after classes and in the morning exercises," Maximilian said softly, once Harry was ready.

Harry looked up at him with confusion for a moment. Monroe must have correctly interpreted his confusion because he pressed on.

"I was just worried that you might feel uncomfortable or embarrassed by what happened, and start avoiding me outside of class," he said gently.

"Oh! No, I er... no, I'll still be there," Harry finished, ducking his head to hide his flushed cheeks.

The pair exited the flat and went down the narrow wooden stairs that were attached to the side of the building. They continued down the short stretch of street until they got back onto High street and began making their way down it, towards the path that would lead back to Hogwarts.

– –

AN: Sorry this one is so short. The next chapter is extra long, I just had trouble finding good breaking points between them, or else I would have just ended up with one 30 page chapter, instead of two unevenly divided chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: So the last chapter was only 4 pages long, but this one is 18. I would have preferred a more even split, length wise, but this was the only acceptable breaking point in the two – I could have combined them together, but that would have been one very long chapter – and it would have made it too long for Live Journal, which is where I originally posted this, so that dictated the lengths.

–

Harry observed that Maximilian had been correct about the hour getting late. There weren't any Hogwarts students left in the streets as far as he could tell, and the sun was getting lower in the sky.

"I meant to ask earlier, but, well, obviously things got side-tracked," Maximilian began and smirked down at Harry, causing him to blush _again_, "but I was wondering what sorts of steps have been taken so far in your godfather's defense. You mentioned that the idea of pursuing a writ of habeas corpus had only just recently been brought up –"

Harry felt like a lead weight had just fallen abruptly into his gut. He couldn't believe that he'd actually talked about _Sirius_ to his professor like that – he trusted the man, but that was a seriously careless thing to do!

"You can't tell anyone about him!" Harry whispered urgently, looking pleadingly up at his professor beside him.

Maximilian looked surprised for a moment but then his features softened and he nodded. "Don't worry, Harry. Your secret – and your godfather's secret – is safe with me. Personally, I think the entire thing is outrageous. Not only that a man of his family's social and political standing could have been locked away without a trial, but that even after he escaped and the old case was brought to light, that no one noticed the obvious lack of trial transcripts, or any record at all of a hearing. I understand that there was a state of martial law declared around that time, but the fact that the case was never re-examined is heinous."

The pair rounded the last of the Hogsmeade storefronts and began the journey through the winding pathway that hugged the edge of the forbidden forest.

"I also find it highly suspect that your godfather has been in some form, under the Headmaster's care for at least the last summer, if not longer, and the venerable man never once suggested habeas corpus as a potential avenue of gaining his freedom. I suppose it's possible that Dumbledore is attempting to avoid appearing involved in any matters that could bring him further in conflict with the Minister. That _is_ one potential explanation, but the fact that your godfather's exoneration would remove _you_, and your potential political influence from Dumbledore's control, seems too powerful a motive to remain silent, to be completely ignored.

"But even outside of all of those unsettling and questionable potential motives, it also seems highly likely to me that Dumbledore would desire to remain a powerful controlling force in your life simply because of the Prophecy, and not necessarily have anything to do with your political power at all," Maximilian said with a sigh and a shrug.

Harry stopped in his tracks, frowning in confusion. "Because of _what?_"

Maximilian stopped and looked back at him blankly. "The Prophecy."

"What _Prophecy?_" Harry asked with a mixture of incredulous confusion, and gut wrenching dread.

"You don't know?" Maximilian whispered, his face taking on an ashen look of disbelief. "How can _you_ not know?"

"Not know _what?"_ Harry asked with an even greater sense of dread quickly growing in his chest.

"I cannot believe... it was one thing to think that he was neglecting his duties as your Proxy out of some sort of stubborn hold onto his political stance on the issue, but the idea that he would withhold knowledge of the Prophecy that brought about so much of your suffering... it's beyond neglectful, it's just outrageous. Has he been doing _nothing_ to prepare you?"

"_What Prophecy!" _Harry asked again, louder and with considerably more panic now than anything else.

Maximilian's face grew sad and he sighed, shaking his head. "This is just outrageous... look, I'll tell you everything that I know, but this is not the place to do it. Lets get back up to the school. My office is properly warded for privacy."

Harry hesitated, not liking having the issue put off, but at least there was a promise of answers soon. He nodded and the two returned to their trek up the path in earnest. They passed through the gate about ten minutes later, and it was another ten minute trek from there, across the grounds and up through the castle to the sixth floor where Maximilian's office was located. Harry remained stoically silent the whole way, mulling over things in his head the whole time.

Finally they entered the room and his Professor set about closing the door, and apparently raising privacy wards, while Harry took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the hearth. Maximilian joined him a moment later, sitting in the chair beside him and looking at Harry with a penetrating gaze for several moments before sighing.

"I don't know all of the details," he began seriously, "and this is not something that is common knowledge, and I would urge you not to repeat it to anyone else."

"Okay," Harry said slowly.

"During the winter of 1980, around half a year before you were born, a prophecy was made foretelling the coming of a child that would have the power to 'Vanquish the Dark Lord'. Apparently the details given in the first few lines of the prophecy lead both Voldemort and Dumbledore to identify the child as you."

He paused and let that rather horribly heavy statement sink in.

Harry, for his part, felt mostly numb. He wondered if his brain had shut down out of shock, and he wasn't sure what was more shocking – the idea that he was somehow supposed to have the power to 'vanquish' Voldemort, or the idea that Dumbledore obviously knew about this and had kept it secret from him.

"Once it was determined that the prophecy was speaking about you, Dumbledore helped your parents go into hiding. From what I understand, they went from one safe-house to another for nearly a year before it became too stressful and daunting a task to continue enduring. It was around that time that Dumbledore suggested the Fidelius spell to put over a single home that they could safely remain in for an extended period of time, rather than constantly running and taking a baby and all of the things a baby needs, with them each move. The story that the press has come to know was that Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper, but you said that wasn't actually the case."

"No, it was Pettigrew," Harry said, shaking his head quickly. "Sirius thought he was too obvious and talked my dad into switching at the last minute. But Pettigrew ended up being the spy for Voldemort..." Harry closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hands, propped up on his knees. He couldn't believe this – all this time, he'd been lead to believe that his parents were the ones that Voldemort was targeting. But it had been _him_. They had died because Voldemort was after _him._

Maximilian hummed softly and nodded his head. "From what I understand, Voldemort never heard the entire prophecy. He was only able to obtain the first few lines – enough to identify you, and to know that you were apparently a potential threat, but not enough to know the full prophecy. Normally, a _sane_ person, would have put a bit more effort into knowing the whole thing before acting, but Voldemort was hardly sane by that point. Any intelligence or sanity he once held had degraded so horribly over the course of the 70's, that he apparently didn't think twice about simply running out and killing you, as soon as he had obtained the secret to your location."

Harry looked up and his brow furrowed. "Why would it matter if he'd heard the whole prophecy?"

"There's no telling what the whole thing says. It could very well say that your 'power to vanquish him' would only activate if he attacked you first. In which case, it obviously would have been in his interest to _not attack you_."

"Oh," Harry said and blinked. He supposed that _did_ make sense.

"There are those that think that the prophecy may already be fulfilled from your 'defeating' him when his body was destroyed fourteen years ago. It does say 'vanquish' not _kill_. Of course, many people are also hold to the idea that he's already _dead_, which as you know, he is not."

Harry nodded.

"But there are others – and I know that Dumbledore is one of them – that know he is not entirely dead and that he has come back, _and_ feel that the prophecy is not yet fulfilled and that you are _still_ destined, in some way, to fulfill it. What the prophecy might say, aside from your potential power to 'vanquish' Voldemort – I do not know."

Harry let his face fall back into his hands and let out a frustrated moan. He felt too overwhelmed to even begin to process this.

"So what do I do to find out what it says?" Harry finally asked, looking hopeless and miserable. "Do I have to go to Dumbledore and hope he finally comes clean?"

"No, then he'd want to know how you found out about the Prophecy at all, and I rather doubt he'd be very thrilled if he knew I was the one that told you, since he has obviously been keeping it secret from you."

Harry scowled darkly, bitterly cursing Dumbledore and his secrets, in his mind. "Then what do I do?"

"Well, as the subject of a prophecy, you have the right to request to view it from the Department of Mysteries, Hall of Prophecy. Your solicitor, Mr. Jennings, could set it up for you and keep the whole thing confidential. Only a person that a prophecy is about can go to the Ministry and ask to view it, so you, and you alone, have the right to ask to see it. Well... you and _Voldemort_, but I rather doubt he would have much success if he walked into the Ministry and asked to be taken to the Hall of Prophecies," Maximilian said with an amused smirk.

"There's a Hall of Prophecies at the Ministry?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Oh yes. Supposedly its a hall filled with row after row after row of thousands of prophecy orbs. The Ministry has been keeping track of Prophecies since before the Ministry was even the Ministry. The Department of Mysteries is run by the Unspeakables, which used to be an independent secret organization that was involved in the investigation and development of rare and powerful magics, and was absorbed shortly after the Ministry was formed. It has roots all the way back to the Seers of Delphi, supposedly."

"Thousands upon thousands of prophecies?" Harry asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "And they all come true?"

Maximilian laughed softly and shook his head. "Oh, dear no. In fact, that's one of the larger studies that the Unspeakables there keep track of. The reality is that _very few_ of the Prophecies kept there ever actually come to pass. It is simply another sign of Voldemort's unstable and shattered mind at the time when he learned about the Prophecy. Were he in his right might, he likely would have dismissed the entire thing all together. Another problem is many, if not _most_ of the prophecies that do seem to come true tend to be self-fulfilling. If no one believes in them or pursues them, then they never come to pass. It is usually the act of trying to avoid the prophecy that leads to it happening. This case is a prime example, I think."

"Well, Voldemort was clearly out of his mind, but wouldn't Dumbledore have known better than to believe in the whole thing, then?" Harry asked, feeling horrified.

"Oh, I'm sure he knew better on some level. I wouldn't be surprised if he had _intentionally_ leaked the prophecy to one of Voldemort's spies, because it _was_ Dumbledore that heard the whole Prophecy to begin with – it makes me wonder how a prophecy witnessed _only_ by one man ever got out to any of Voldemort's people at all – no, I cannot help but wonder if perhaps Dumbledore leaked it on purpose in _hopes_ that Voldemort would act against it, and bring it to pass. He _was_ getting extremely desperate.

"Voldemort was on the cusp of inadvertently destroying everything. He had utterly lost his mind and lost track of the full scale of the consequences that would result from his actions. Had he not been stopped when he was, it was only a matter of time before the muggles would have realized we're here, and that it was magic users who were causing so much death and mayhem. It is unlikely that the muggles would have discerned between two factions of witches and wizards – they would have simply seen _all_ of us as the attacking force, and defended themselves violently. I can only imagine what could have happened, and none of the things my mind conjures are good."

Harry hadn't stopped listening, but his mind had sort of stopped processing things somewhere back there when Maximilian had said that Dumbledore might have intentionally leaked the prophecy that led to Voldemort targeting him, killing his parents, and ruining his whole life, all in the vain hope that Harry might actually, mysteriously, have the power to 'vanquish' Voldemort. He closed his eyes tightly against the despair that was welling up in his chest and he simply let his face rest on his arms, totally hunched over in his seat.

On some level, he could rationally explain away Dumbledore being desperate. He could understand that things were so horrible at the end of the 70's, and so many people were looking to Dumbledore, expecting him to save them, because he'd defeated Grindlewald, and no doubt Dumbledore felt an unimaginable amount of pressure at that... but Harry knew the consequences of those choices because _he_ had been the one to suffer them.

Voldemort never would have targeted Harry if he'd never heard that Prophecy. Harry's parents never would have gone into hiding, and they never would have had to go under the fidelius. Sirius would never have been accused of betraying them, because there would be nothing to betray, and Harry and his parents never would have been attacked. Harry never would have ended up living with the Dursley's – he would have grown up in the magical world _with_ his parents.

But... but what would the wizarding world have been like? Professor Monroe... Maximilian – that was still a bit bewildering for Harry – did have a point. If Voldemort hadn't been blasted away by whatever it was that happened that night, his war would have continued on, and who knows what would have happened then.

But surely it was unreasonable to expect that the _only_ way to defeat Voldemort was _Harry._ That just seemed ridiculous. Everyone said that Dumbledore was the one person that Voldemort feared the most – surely that fear was founded on something. Why _couldn't_ Dumbledore have just defeated him? Why put that responsibilities on the shoulder of a fifteen-month-old child?

"Harry?" Maximilian's gentle voice spoke from beside him. "Is there anything I can do for you right now?"

Harry shook his head, still keeping it buried in his arms. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He tried to steady his breathing and stop completely freaking out. Freaking out wasn't going to do him any good.

Finally, after what was probably several very long minutes, during which Professor Monroe had remained sitting in patient silence, Harry turned his head to the side, letting his face peak out from his arms and looking at the man beside him.

"How do you know about the Prophecy?" he croaked out.

"I have several associates who are Unspeakables, working in the Ministry, and I knew people involved in the war back during that time," Maximilian answered simply.

Harry sort of nodded his head without really removing it from the awkward position. "Do many other people know about it? I mean, it's not common knowledge or something, is it?" Harry didn't think he could take it if he found out that loads of people knew about this and he had still somehow managed to remain ignorant of it.

"No. I suspect that there are very few people who know, actually. In fact, you'll find that those who do know, really only know _of_ it, not what it actually says. The only person, as far as I know, who knows the whole thing, is Dumbledore himself, because he witnessed it when it was initially being made. And only two people know the partial contents – the first few lines that were leaked – are Voldemort, and the spy who brought it to him from Dumbledore."

Harry heaved a sign and finally uncurled himself, sitting back in his seat and letting his head fall back, so his face was looking up at the ceiling.

"What do I do?" he asked in a broken whisper. "How do I take this?"

"Well, I see little point in despairing right now," Maximilian said firmly and Harry let his head lull to the side and glanced pathetically over at the man. "You still do not know what this Prophecy actually says. Until then, you cannot possibly know what is supposedly 'expected' of you, and whether or not you even feel like going along with it. It is _your_ life and _your_ choice. This whole thing is making me incredibly uneasy and disgusted, honestly. The more I look into things, the more unsettled I become."

Harry's brows furrowed and he sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"I mentioned to you in one of our talks just a few weeks ago, how it seemed to me that the way you were raised was practically molding you out of clay to consider the welfare of others before you consider the welfare of yourself. Your own, supposedly 'selfish' desires, always take a back seat in your mind, and you feel obligated to put the needs of others first – even if it means sacrificing your own health, safety, and happiness. But that is _not_ true, Harry. It's _not!_ You are not responsible for the world, no matter what some mad soothsayer might have said while in a delusional trance. You have a right to your own wants, your own desires, and your own future, away from the manipulations of an old coot playing an elaborate game of chess."

Harry gaped at him. He felt just about as confused as he did before, but he had to admit that some part of him felt lighter at the man's words.

"I had thought that Dumbledore would have either been preparing you to take on this destiny that he no doubts wants you to tackle, or he would have _at least_ been preparing you to defend yourself from the madmen who _do_ believe in the prophecy, and would come after you to either save their master, or to please him. Either way, I would have expected you to have been informed, and prepared. Clearly, that isn't part of his plan, which is just ridiculous," Maximilian exclaimed with obvious disgust.

Harry couldn't help but definitely agree. He even remembered, back at the end of first year, when he'd asked Dumbledore why Voldemort had come after him, and Dumbledore had refused to tell him, 'until he was older'. But even back then, it was blatantly obvious that Harry was already in danger – hell, _Voldemort had tried to kill him!_ Waiting until he was older wasn't going to stop the various forces out there trying to kill Harry. It hadn't stopped the diary or the basilisk, it hadn't stopped the dementors, and it hadn't stopped Barty Crouch Jr. from impersonating his teacher and entering his name in the tournament where he was nearly eaten by a dragon, drowned my grindylows, and torn apart by acromantula and giant blast-ended screwts. And it hadn't stopped Voldemort from abducting him via portkey and stealing his blood for a ritual.

Waiting until Harry was older had only left Harry even _more_ vulnerable and less prepared! All he ever wanted was to just be _normal;_ to fade into the background, like everyone else, and not have all these ridiculous expectations on his shoulders. Was that really so much to ask? But now, it looked like that had never been an option from the beginning. He'd been _prophesied_ to have to fight against Voldemort from before his _birth!_

"You said that your solicitor proposed emancipation?" Maximilian asked and Harry was so thrown by the sudden change that he just blinked at the man blankly for a minute before shaking his head to clear it.

"Er, yeah," Harry said, finally.

"I think that's a good idea," Maximilian said seriously. "That man's motives are becoming more and more concerning and questionable. I seriously worry about his intentions with you, as well as his judgment. I don't think he honestly has your best interests at heart, at all. He's in a position where he has to look at the bigger picture, and I fear that in his eyes, you may be little more than a pawn that he would willingly sacrifice at the right time, should his strategy demand it. A person with such lofty responsibilities should not be the one person in the magical world most responsible for keeping you healthy and safe. In his eyes, your safety will always take a backseat to what he sees as the 'Greater Good' and the safety of the many. That may seem noble from an outside perspective, but you are still but a young man and your primary guardian should be looking out for _your _best interests, first and foremost."

Harry felt like a vice was clenching his chest, but he also knew that he agreed with the man that Dumbledore probably didn't think that Harry was more important than everyone else – hell, _Harry_ didn't think he was more important than the many. But maybe he should? Maximilian was right – was it really so awful for Harry to be a little selfish? To actually expect to be treated fairly? Like his safety and happiness was just as important as the safety of any other student in the school? Other people had their parents to stand up for their rights and make sure they were being kept safe, but Harry didn't have that. He'd assumed that it was just because the Dursley's never cared, and never _would_ care about him, but he was _supposed_ to have that someone in his Proxy, and that person was Dumbledore. _Dumbledore _was supposed to be the one standing up for Harry above all else, and it was clear that wasn't the case anymore – and never had been.

Maximilian was right, and it was the biggest reason that Harry had been feeling so devastated by all that he'd been learning about Dumbledore this day, and over the last month. The little things that he'd been learning since the start of term had all unsettled him, but it was what he'd learned this day alone that had nearly crushed Harry with hopeless despair. The realization of just how extensively he'd been used and manipulated by the man he had once so entirely looked up to, had shaken him to the core.

Harry pulled in a deep breath and nodded. "I'll write Mr. Jennings tonight and tell him to get started on whatever needs to happen," Harry said, sounding slightly hoarse.

"You should get in to view that prophecy as well," Maximilian said thoughtfully. "I don't personally like to put too much stock in the things – but knowing what it says will put you on stronger ground, and might give you some insight into Dumbledore's motives for his treatment of you."

Harry swallowed and nodded again. He rather hoped that Maximilian was right about the whole prophecy thing being rubbish. Harry knew next to nothing about real prophecies and how often they came true, but he did know what sort of nonsense Trelawney was often spouting out in class, and it was all rubbish as far as Harry was concerned. The idea that _Harry_ supposedly had some sort of super-power to vanquish Voldemort seemed equally insane to Harry. There was nothing all that special about him, at all. He was average in most of his subjects. He was better than most of his peers at Defense, but he was certainly no prodigy. Voldemort was supposed to have been a magical genius. A wizard so powerful that Dumbledore was the only one anyone thought could match him. Harry wouldn't stand a chance against him!

"I'll mention that to Mr. Jennings while I'm at it," Harry said finally.

"Did he provide you with a method for secure communications?" Maximilian asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. He got me a stack of parchment that's charmed to only let him read it. Said if I ever write anything sensitive to him, to use it."

"That's good. Do that. It would be bad if Dumbledore were to intercept your letter."

Harry's blood chilled at the suggestion, bristling at the thought of Dumbledore intercepting his mail. And yet he couldn't quite find it in himself anymore to entirely discount the possibility that Dumbledore might do something like that. Harry was finding that he wasn't sure if he really knew Dumbledore at all. He had _thought_ he understood just what sorts of things Dumbledore would be willing to do and what he wouldn't do out of moral principle, but clearly Harry had been wrong.

Dumbledore had clearly been willing to sacrifice Harry's health and happiness by leaving him to rot at the Dursley's without even checking up on him, for motives that Harry could only speculate about. Either for political power, or because of some prophecy – Harry wasn't sure which he would prefer, honestly. Maybe the truth was a mixture of both. Maybe Dumbledore eased his conscious using the Prophecy as an excuse – saying he was molding Harry to fulfill some sort of destiny to destroy Voldemort, and it just happened to also conveniently provide him with a bunch of extra political power and the ability to push through legislation he backed without ever consulting Harry.

It was all so disorienting and heartbreaking.

Harry heaved a heavy sigh and leaned back into his seat.

"Harry...?"

"Hmm?"

"You look a right mess."

Harry let out a cynical snort before sighing again, letting his head fall forward and opening his eyes. Maximilian was looking at him with concern in his eyes, and a deep frown marring his handsome features.

He stood up and took a few steps forward until he was standing directly in front of Harry. He seemed to hesitate and reconsider before a small sad smile curled the corner of his lips. He extended his arms, as if offering a hug and raised his eyebrows at Harry, questioningly.

Harry just frowned up at him in confusion, not really getting what was being offered.

"You're obviously incredibly unsettled Harry. I think this might help – and I want to help – but it's up to you if you want accept it," Maximilian said in explanation.

Harry's eyes widened and his mind suddenly registered the situation. Maximilian was offering to hold him – to _touch_ him. The last time they'd touched the magic had been so intense that they'd ended up on a couch rutting against each other like horny dogs. Harry flushed at the memory and the implications, feeling conflicted. He felt like everything he'd just discovered was far too important to let himself get distracted by his hormones, but on the other hand, his hormones were suddenly very interested in experiencing that magical frequency sharing thing from earlier again. That, and he was also tempted by the prospect of being held by Maximilian again. Part of the whole thing still felt like a dream that couldn't possibly have been real.

Flushing even deeper and swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry hesitantly pushed himself up out of the chair and took a step forward. He hesitated with less than an inch of space between him and his teacher and felt his heart racing and the blood coursing through his veins.

"What, uhm... what should we do?" Harry croaked out, before clearing his throat awkwardly.

Maximilian grinned in gentle amusement.

"Just let me hold you. I'll see if I can gentle the flow of the magic some. I'd like to see if I can control it, and it's influence, some and just offer you some comfort."

"Oh..." Harry said, not sure if he should just be thankful, or be disappointed.

Maximilian was the one to make the move in closing the distance between them. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Harry's shoulders, letting one card into Harry's hair, while the other rested firmly between Harry's shoulder blades.

The instant they touched Harry felt his whole world narrow down into a single point of focus, and his head rush with power. His skin _tingled_ everywhere, and he felt an overpowering sense of euphoria flood his senses.

"_Ooh..."_ Harry said in with a surprised breathy moan. The first contact had been nearly as intense as it had been earlier that afternoon, but Harry had felt an almost instant dip in power a moment later, like it was being smothered by a warm blanket. It was still there, to some extent, but Harry didn't feel the same overpowering urge to start rutting up against the other man, like he had before. Instead he felt _safe_. He felt like, for the first time, he could willingly give up control of the insane roller coaster ride that was his life, and let someone else watch out for him – even if only for a few minutes.

Harry sagged fully into Maximilian's arms and found his own arms unconsciously wrap around the man's waist, hugging him tightly – almost desperately. His face buried into the man's shoulder and neck and he pulled in a deep breath through his nose, letting himself relax into the familiar scent. The tension in his shoulders melted away and he felt as if the magic inside him was singing. It was swirling around in him – out of him and through him, into Maximilian and back again – making him warm and dizzy, but it wasn't as overwhelming now as it had been before. It was just _good. So good._

Harry sighed, feeling better by the second. "This feels so good," he breathed out, voicing his thoughts.

"Good barely scratches the surface," Maximilian said with a breathy laugh. "I have to say, Harry, this was not something I had been expecting to encounter when I decided to come to Hogwarts instead of perusing other options. I'm certainly not complaining though. Quite an unexpected perk," he let out a chuckle, and carded his fingers through Harry's hair, sending tingles of pleasure shooting through Harry's head.

"It doesn't weird you out?" Harry asked, moving his head so he could look up at the man's face. So much of his mind still felt foggy and he had the strongest urge to curl up and nap with the man, but he fought it, feeling the stronger need to relieve some of his fears regarding whatever it was that was going on between the two of them.

"Weird me out?" Maximilian asked.

"This... _thing_ that's going on with us. You're a lot older than me... and we're both blokes... I just..." Harry trailed off, ducking his head slightly back into the man's shoulder self-consciously.

"Ah, I see," Maximilian said with an understanding yet also slightly amused sound to his voice. "Come over here," he said and Harry found himself being directed towards the couch. When they pulled apart slightly, part of Harry reacted subconsciously, tightening his hold on the other man and earning him another chuckle. He flushed, feeling embarrassed for how needy and dependent he was acting, and so irrationally as well, but he couldn't quite force himself to loosen his grip, either.

Maximilian guided the two of them down onto the couch and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulling him up onto his lap. Harry's eyes widened, startled by the position he'd been guided into, and feeling vaguely embarrassed and weird about the whole thing. At the same time, another part of him was stupidly pleased with the arrangement and seemed to be urging him to curl into the man's lap like a cat or something.

As Maximilian's arms both wrapped around him more securely, one going around to rest on his shoulder, and the other going across his lap and resting on his hip, Harry felt his body slowly relaxing, even though his mind was feeling quite befuddled. Soon, however, his mind began to catch up with his body, and he let his head fall comfortably on his professor's shoulder, and allowed his body to fully melt into the embrace. That buzzing heady feeling began to sooth him into a more relaxed state, releasing tension and calming his frazzled nerves.

"That's better," Maximilian cooed gently. "Now, you asked if I was 'weirded out' I believe, yes?"

Harry hummed and nodded his head lazily, feeling his upper brain functions somewhat diminished as he slipped into the most relaxed, lulled state he could remember ever feeling. Being held by the older wizard was amazing, and that feeling that he could just let everything go and let the other man take care of him began to reassert itself. He wanted to just forget about the rest of the world and let his whole world become nothing but Maximilian and himself.

"The answer is 'no'. I don't find it weird at all," Maximilian said gently, "but I am quite a bit older than you, so I suppose I've had more time to grow accustomed to my sexual preferences than you have. The age difference doesn't really bother me either – although fifteen is certainly considerably younger than anyone else I've been with – well, since I _was_ fifteen, anyway."

Harry's head turned up slowly and he blinked at the man through heavy-lidded eyes. "So you're gay?" Harry asked, and his voice sounded somewhat sluggish to his own ears.

Maximilian chuckled. "I have enjoyed the carnal pleasures of both genders, but I do tend to lean more towards men than women."

"Oh... that's nice," Harry mumbled, grinning at the 'carnal pleasures' thing. He wouldn't mind enjoying a few more 'carnal pleasures' with his professor right about now, actually...

Harry shifted a bit on the man's lap and felt a more slightly solid bit protruding him in the thigh and was rewarded with a quiet hum of pleasure from the other man as he rubbed against it. Harry giggled, feeling giddy and shifted again, more intentionally now. His head felt light and tingly, and little sparks were starting to dance along his skin.

"You little minx," Maximilian said with a lusty chuckle. "Are you trying to tempt me?"

Harry's head lulled up and he grinned up at the other man. The world seemed to spin with the movement and he had to blink several times to make things stop moving about. "Oh... I feel a bit... funny," Harry said, blinking slowly now.

"Good funny, or bad funny?"

"I... don't know. Dizzy, I guess. But good. I like your cock. It feels nice against my leg. I wonder what it would feel like against my bum though," Harry let out slurred giggle and let his head fall heavily back on the older man's shoulder and began pressing his parted lips against the man's neck. "Hmmm... you taste good too."

"Harry –" Maximilian said in a slow whisper as his eyes fell closed. "You're making it very difficult for me to not take advantage of you."

"But what if I want you to?" Harry said with a pout before resuming his ministrations against the man's neck.

"You're hardly in the proper state of mind to make such statements. You're acting like you're high."

"High?"

"Like drugs," Maximilian said with a laugh. "I really need to teach you Occlumency. It seems I can restrain certain aspects from effecting _me_ too strongly, but my control over how it effects you clearly still needs refinement."

"What's Occlu-whatever?" Harry mumbled against Maximilian's neck as he moved up towards the man's jaw.

"Occlumency is the – oh... Harry, you... you really should stop that."

"Dun wanna."

Maximilian laughed. "Of course you don't. Occlumency is a branch of magic that allows you to occlude your mind from foreign intrusion and influence. A person experienced in Occlumency can prevent a skilled Legilimens from accessing their memories, and can resist the influence of a number of mind-altering potions. Love po – oh... oh, right there. Merlin, you have a wicked little tongue, don't you? - Love potions, are usually only partially effective on a skilled Occlumens, and an Occlumens can usually fight against the force of Veritaserum, which is why it's generally not admissible in court. A person could fight the effects, but pretend it's still working and mislead the court. Remember the Fidescio orb I showed you the first week of school? I mentioned that someone who was accomplished with Occlumency could shield their mind so that it remained blank rather than showing if the person was lying or not."

"Ohh... right," Harry said distractedly as he began to nibble his way up the man's neck and the bottom of his ear lobe. He was getting the most amazing thrill, seeing the normally perfectly composed man react to what he was doing and hearing the little gasps that escaped his lips every few bites. He also felt the strangest _echo_ of a sensation in the back of his mind, as if he could feel the pleasure himself, but he wasn't sure if he was maybe imagining that.

"I'm using Occlumency to dampen the intensity of how our sharing magic is effecting my perception and decision-making faculties," Maximilian continued, but his voice was breathier now, and there was that hint of need at the edges.

"And you want me to learn that too?" Harry mumbled as he rhythmically shifted his position in the man's lap to brush his bum back and forth over the growing erection he felt there."

Maximilian gasped louder this time and made a pleased keening sound of sound for a moment before chuckling breathlessly. "You are quite the little minx, Harry."

"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked in a breathy tone, looking up at the man through his eyelashes. He was so totally randy. He couldn't get the other man out of his mind, or the memories of the last time the two of them had been on a couch together. It had felt so good. _So good_, and he wanted more of that. He didn't want to think about how completely fucked up his life was. He didn't want to think about politics and betrayal, and prophecies, or the idea that there were actually people out there that somehow expected him to save the world from Voldemort. And he definitely didn't want to think about the fact that Voldemort was probably still out there, right now, trying to come up with a way to kill Harry, because the man probably still believed in that ridiculous prophecy.

No. Harry wanted to think about the ridged cock pressing up against his backside, and his own straining erection and the slowly growing well of lust and arousal that was flooding his system. He wanted to think about the magical hum he could feel in his very skin, sending delicious sparks of the most intense pleasure shooting through him at every little touch from the other man. It wasn't like he could really do much thinking anyway with as foggy and dizzy he felt. His mind felt like it were floating through the clouds, and everything seemed to be simplified into lust, pleasure, and the amazing man beneath him on the couch, and how badly Harry wanted him.

It seemed like the blanket that had been dampening the intensity of the sensations was being pulled back and his head was starting to roar again. Where as before his mind had been slowly lulling into a dizzy haze, he was suddenly sharply aware of the man beneath him. Maximilian was holding him still now, and staring right into his eyes with a penetrating gaze. Harry gasped at the intensity and his arousal spiked.

"Harry," Maximilian said and his voice was deep and raspy with need, "are you sure?" he panted.

Harry felt breathless but nodded his head quickly. His mind was consumed entirely with his cock and what it wanted – and it wanted whatever Professor Monroe could give him.

"Yes. _Please_," Harry begged, leaning in and beginning to press open-mouthed kisses against the older wizard's neck.

Maximilian moaned and Harry suddenly felt his strong hands move down and grab his body, lifting and twisting him around. Harry followed along and the next moment he found himself straddling the man's lap instead of sitting in it. Harry moaned as their cocks lined up and without a moments hesitation found himself enthusiastically rutting up against the man. His hands began pulling at the undershirt again, pulling it out of the trousers and slipping under to explore the man's skin.

He could almost swear it felt even more intense than it had last time. Maybe the fact that he had some idea what was going on now made it all less overwhelming and confusing and instead his mind could just focus on how bloody amazing it felt.

Maximilian's hands wrapped around and grasped Harry's arse powerfully, pulling him down in time with his upwards thrusts, sending explosions through Harry's whole system and whiting out his vision. His head felt like it was going to burst, and all he knew was that he was moaning and crying out, begging for more – begging to _come_.

One of Maximilian's hands slipped in under his waist band and beneath his pants and palmed Harry's arse bare, and the direct contact sent even more jolts of that delicious magic coursing between them, causing Harry to buck against him with even more enthusiasm. The other hand joined it and he was soon squeezing Harry's pale arse cheeks directly, letting his fingers slide between them and running teasingly along Harry's pucker. Harry screamed out in shock at the jolt that shot through him at the first contact, and he was sure his cock would explode if he didn't come soon. He needed it so badly, and he was so close and so desperate.

"Professor, _please_... _please! Oh... so good. So close. Please... Please... please," _Harry chanted. He just knew that he couldn't cum until the other man said so. His mind didn't even question it.

"Yes, yes, yes... oh... yes love, come for me, Harry... _Harry!_" Maximilian called out and gave several jerky thrusts upwards. The friction was beyond glorious, and that wonderful peak struck Harry, sending him into spasms against the other man, his back arching and his whole body shaking with the intensity. He felt hot wetness fill his trousers as his cock jerked and and ejected. Harry's whole body was pulsing and twitching as he was hit with wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure. Slowly they settled down into the smallest of ripples, but still he felt himself shaking against the man beneath him, who seemed to be effected with almost equal intensity.

Harry's whole body sagged with relief and bliss. He couldn't remember ever feeling so deliriously good. Well, except for earlier that afternoon. That had been pretty damned amazing too, but this was even better.

Suddenly Maximilian's chest was shaking and dislodging Harry from his comfortable location where he had melted into goo. Harry lifted his overly-heavy head to look at the man curiously. Maximilian broke into light laughter for a minute before it died away into a happy-sounding sigh.

"Well, _that_ wasn't what I had been planning, but I suppose I should have expected it to happen," he said, still grinning easily.

Harry felt a bit sheepish suddenly, realizing that it really had been his actions that had driven them to end up in this situation – _again_. His head was a lot clearer now. They were still touching, and he could still feel that powerful buzzing hum, but it was in the background now. Sort of like the purring of a sleeping cat. The magic was sated and resting now... or something.

"Er... sorry," Harry mumbled, feeling embarrassed.

"Don't be, Harry. Do you feel better, at least?" Maximilian asked, smirking.

"Uh – yes." Harry deadpanned, earning him a laugh and a swat on the rear from the other man that surprised him into squeaking. Even more surprising though, was how his previously wilted cock twitched at the action.

Maximilian laughed again and lifted Harry up, dislodging him from his lap and standing up. Harry pouted at him, earning nothing more than a smirking grin from the older man who then extended his hand. Harry eyed it cautiously, worried that if he touched the man again, it might start all over again with him totally loosing control over his inhibitions and rutting up against the man again.

Fortunately, that wasn't the case. Harry accepted the hand and felt nothing more than a quiet pleasant hum course up his arm and that sense of safety and security. He sighed in relief and looked sheepishly back up at the man.

Maximilian made a quick gesture with his hand and seemingly out of no where, his wand had appeared in his grasp. Harry had seen this so many times over the last month that it didn't even surprise him anymore, but he still hadn't gotten around to asking him how he did it. Harry's eyes widened suddenly when Maximilian reached down and pulled his trousers away from his waist and aimed his wand down them. Harry felt tingles of the man's magic in the air, but then it was gone and Monroe's wand was once again gone. Harry blinked as the man smoothly re-tucked his shirt into his pants and then looked at Harry with a curious little grin.

"Well, I hope, if nothing else, I've managed to distract you from your distressing discoveries."

Harry snorted and grinned. "Er, yeah... I'd definitely say I've been thoroughly distracted."

"Well, good. I don't like to do anything half-way – I prefer a thorough job or nothing at all," Maximilian said, surprising Harry by stepping forward suddenly and wrapping one arm around Harry's back and pulling him in for a kiss.

Harry moaned in surprise into the other man's mouth, quickly pushing himself up further, trying to deepen the kiss. He failed though, and a moment later Harry was whimpering as the older wizard pulled back, still smirking rather smugly for a moment before his face took on a more serious edge. "Now I'm sure I don't have to explain to you why we'll need to restrain such activities to private, yes?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah! I course," Harry insisted, instantly, nodding his head.

"I cannot treat you any differently in class."

"Of course not!" Harry said, almost offended by the mere suggestion.

"We have to be vigilante in controlling our behavior towards each other when in public. Ms. Granger already suspects you fancy me, and I know you're not very comfortable with deceiving to your friends."

Harry blanched. Hermione suspected that Harry fancied Professor Monroe? Hermione suspected that Harry was _gay?_ "What makes you think that Hermione suspects that?" Harry said, his voice on the edge of panic.

Maximilian gave him the sort of look a parent gives a child when they ask a very obvious question and Harry felt like he should feel indignant about that, but mostly he just felt like he'd asked an obvious question.

"I'm afraid, Harry, that you haven't been all that skilled at hiding your feelings."

Harry flushed. "So er... you noticed it before today?"

Maximilian chuckled. "Um... yes."

Harry felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole an die, he was so embarrassed.

"Don't be like that, love," Maximilian said in a gentle, reassuring tone and he came over and gently rubbed Harry's back between his shoulder blades, sending wonderful warm pulses down his spine. Harry's heart jumped into his throat at the use of the endearment. "I've been quite flattered, honestly. It certainly hasn't hurt my ego to know that such an attractive, clever, and resourceful young man, as yourself, found me worthy of his attention."

"Me?" Harry squawked, "You're the one who's amazing! You're so smart, and clever – I'm not clever! Hermione's clever – you're clever – _I'm_ not clever – and and... and you're just... your handsome and strong, and you make these amazing persuasive arguments that make so much _sense_! And you're so confident – everything about you; how you walk, how you talk, how you hold yourself in a room of people. You _ooze_ confidence! I could never be like that. You're just amazing! And –"

"Harry," Maximilian interrupted with gentle amusement and a hand cupping Harry's cheek, "I'm flattered. Beyond flattered. But don't sell yourself short. You _are_ clever. You've got _so much potential_ in you. You so desperately want approval from the adults in your life that you care about, but there's been so few of them, and none truly willing to give you that approval... I can tell that if you had had just one adult around you while growing up that had praised you for academic success you would probably have been top in your class at Hogwarts. Even far outshining Ms. Granger.

"Instead you were only really praised when you you practically killed yourself doing something reckless. You were given enormous quantities of house points for every instance when you nearly died doing something that one of the _adults_ should have manned up and done themselves, instead of leaving it in the hands of a child, but your academic progress has been squashed by a number of pathetic and embittered teachers."

"That's mad! I could _never_ be as smart as Hermione," Harry insisted, shaking his head insistently.

"Ms. Granger has book smarts, but she's hindered by her reliance on previously published ideas and a lack of personal creativity. She has a hard time seeing beyond what's written in the books she reads and what she's been told by authority figures; but that's where _you_ shine. You put things together with so little directing. There's _so much_ wonderful potential that I can see in you. It just needs a little nurturing. A little encouragement and I know you could outshine anyone else in this school. And you've got this clumsy, youthful sort of confidence that shines when you're not paying attention and too busy to feel self-conscious or consumed by self-doubt. You hide inside yourself so often – trying to sink into the background and go unnoticed, but every now and then I get a glimpse of that powerful young man, just aching to come out and show the world just how amazing he really is, if only they had the proper sense to see it. _That _is the boy that I've grown so remarkably attached to over the last month."

Harry stood there, speechless. Part of him wanted to protest that Professor Monroe was wrong and that Harry didn't have any of those redeeming qualities at all, but another part of him was just screaming in joy at the man's glowing words. The idea that Maximilian saw him that way – that he'd been thinking about Harry as more than just one of his students for some time now – it was amazing and made Harry feel all giddy and happy again.

"I don't know what to say," Harry finally whispered.

"You don't have to say anything," Maximilian said, leaning in and pressing a small kiss against Harry's forehead before pulling back.

Harry's scar was singing with power and his eyes fell closed for a moment as he tried to get control over his body's reaction to the tiny gesture of affection. He wondered if the dulling sensation that had happened after the two of them finally _came_ was dying away now, because that one touch against his forehead had felt shockingly intense.

"I fear I may have cost you dinner," Maximilian said suddenly and Harry frowned in confusion. "The meal ended about ten minutes ago."

"Oh, shoot!"

"Yes, I imagine you're friends are going to be worried as to what happened to you..."

"I – er, yeah. Yeah, they probably will," Harry said, wracking his brain for what he'd tell Ron and Hermione to explain away his absence all day. He was supposed to have met up with them in Hogsmeade after his meeting with Mr. Jennings, but obviously things had taken an unexpected turn that day.

"Can you mange on your own, or do you need my help coming up with an explanation?"

"Er, I think I can manage," Harry said slowly. "But um... I should probably go," Harry said, grimacing with disappointment.

"That's probably for the best. Send that letter to Mr. Jennings. If you have any questions or need any help or advice, I'm here for you whenever you need me. I'll see you Monday morning. Okay?"

"Right. Monday," Harry said, nodding sort of distractedly, suddenly realizing that he was about to go back into the real world where everyone else thought things were the same as ever, and the world hadn't been turned on it's head.

Harry felt as if so much had happened that day. He'd discovered that he had crazy political power in the Wizengamot, and that Dumbledore might have been using it to pass legislation Harry didn't even agree with, and that he could probably file for emancipation on grounds of Dumbledore neglecting his Proxy responsibilities, combined with how the Ministry had treated him the same way they would an adult, on two different matters of legal significance. And if all that wasn't enough, _then_ he'd found out there was a _Prophecy_ about him, that Dumbledore had been keeping secret from him, all this time.

The whole world had changed, as far as Harry was concerned, but no one else knew it. No one but Professor Monroe.

"Erm... Thank you, Professor," Harry said in a soft voice, looking up at the man through his eyelashes.

"It's Maximilian," Maximilian whispered as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Harry's cheek. The warm breath that feathered over Harry's ear and the side of his face sent shivers through his whole body.

"Maximilian," Harry echoed in a breathy whisper.

"When we're alone."

"Right."

"Good night, Harry. You should get back to your friends."

– –


	9. Chapter 9

AN: I'll say it again since some people seem to have missed the previous author notes on it – but the reason the chapters are coming fast right now is because **I'm posting a large, already-done, batch over the span of a week. **

It's taking about a week because I'm re-reading them before posting them and adjusting wording/phrasing, and fixing typos. Once I catch up with what's written, **updates will slow down**. Probably to something like 1-2 chapters every 2-3 weeks for as long as I miraculously maintain interest and time in writing.

– –

"Harry!"

Harry cringed and stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back to see Hermione jumping up from her seat and racing over to him. He sighed, resigned to his fate and gave her as innocent an expression as he could manage.

"Where have you been! We were worried sick!"

"I'm fine," Harry insisted instantly.

"But where have you been? We were supposed to meet up at the Three Broomsticks but you never showed up. Ron and I looked all over Hogsmeade for you!"

Harry grimaced again before sighing and looking around the common room. It was just Hermione – no Ron, which Harry was secretly thankful for. There were certain details he didn't really want to share with Ron, but that he knew Hermione would demand for the sake of her own never-ending curiosity and insistence on knowing _everything_.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.

Hermione made an exasperated sort of sound and rolled her eyes. "He's out on the pitch," she groused.

Harry looked back at her and cocked a single eyebrow, but he couldn't be that surprised. Their first Quidditch game of the year, against Slytherin, was this coming week and Ron had been having random bouts of excessive nerves for more than a week.

Harry heaved a sigh and turned back to her. "Okay, look, if you really want the details we need to go somewhere private, because some of it's sensitive."

Hermione's expression became more serious and thoughtful. "We could use an empty classroom and lock the door," she suggested. Harry shrugged and nodded, motioning her out the portrait hole. It took a few minutes before they found a room that Harry was satisfied with. There were no portraits inside it to eavesdrop and gossip about them. Harry still wasn't sure about it – he worried that he was getting excessively paranoid, but after all he'd been through, up to and including being kidnapped and used in an evil dark ritual – he figured he'd earned the right to be cautious.

Harry cast a locking charm on the door and then an imperturbable charm, hoping that would be good enough because he didn't know any privacy wards. Finally, he turned back to Hermione who was now looking a mixture between wary and worried.

"What's going on, Harry?" she asked, seriously. "What happened to you today?"

A small bark of a nearly-hysterical laughter escaped from his mouth before he managed to get control over it and shut his mouth. It was just such a loaded question – one that he mostly couldn't answer, either.

He sighed heavily and pulled an old wooden chair out from one of the dusty unused desks. He sat down heavily and paused, gathering his thoughts. Hermione hesitated but finally seemed to give in and pull out a chair for herself, watching him and waiting patiently.

"My meeting with Mr. Jennings was... educational," Harry said bitterly. "You know how I discovered at the start of term that Dumbledore is my legal guardian proxy?"

Hermione nodded her head, her brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah, well, it seems like he's done a lot more than just _neglect_ to attend to his responsibilities in that area," Harry grumbled before flowing into a long, embittered retelling of his discoveries and suspicions on Dumbledore's actions and possible motives. He told her about the Wizengamot seats and his political power. He talked about how it was supposed to be Dumbledore's responsibility as his Proxy to explain Harry's future duties in the House of Lords to him, and to keep him fairly up-to-date on the legislation going through the Wizengamot so Harry could be prepared and learn about the whole thing.

Hermione was quick to pick up on the fact that Harry did not _know_ for a fact if Dumbledore had been voting on any legislature using Harry's seats, and Harry granted her that, but said he was going to be writing Mr. Jennings a letter as soon as they were done there to get more details on that.

He told Hermione about his fears that Dumbledore was intentionally stringing Sirius along, but not really helping him, just so that he could maintain his legal control over Harry and his Wizengamot seats.

"Harry, you can't seriously believe that!" Hermione had gasped in disbelief. "How can you believe that of the Headmaster? He's a _good man_, Harry! He would never do something like that!"

"How can you know that for sure?" Harry shot back. "What do we _really_ know about him? I've been looking at his political voting record, and I don't like it, Hermione. I don't agree with even _half_ the bills he's sponsored over the last few decades, and he's been spearheading the effort to slim down, and weaken all of the legislation that got passed back in the 60's that I _do_ like. And what if it was _my_ votes that were used to neuter the Magical Proxy act? What if he used _my_ political power to weaken the legislation that could have _saved me_ from the Dursley's?"

Hermione looked lost and frustrated. "Harry, I just don't know enough about this stuff to say anything for sure. You've been doing all of this political digging, but it's not something I've investigated much. If Dumbledore's been trying to slim down the legislation, I'm sure he had some good reasons for doing it."

"No, he _didn't!_ It's all about _politics_ and whose got the upper hand. It's all about _sides_, and which _side_ is winning, and then people forget that there are real people being effected by this stuff. From Dumbledore's point of view, any legislation that gives magical people the power to take a magical child away from a muggle family is _evil_. It's just the work of blood-purists and bigots who don't think that muggles are suitable to raise a magical child. So they neuter that legislation, and weaken it until it can't do anything, and there's no protection left.

"Sure, there are probably loads of muggle parents who love their kids and treat them wonderfully – people like your parents – and I don't think it's okay to take magical children away from their family, if they're parents are good and loving people, but what about the parents that _hate_ magic? The ones that don't understand it and punish their children just for being what they are? What about the ones that use the child's differences as an excuse to beat the shit out of them whenever they feel like it, or turn a blind eye when others do it? Or they treat the kid like scum, and don't feed them and lock them in their room!

"You're always going on about the rights of House-Elves to be treated like people, but what about when a muggle treats magical child _worse_ than the worst wizard treats a house elf! That child deserves some bloody fucking protection too, and in the 60's they had it! If people like Dumbledore weren't so hung up in taking sides of an issue and turning a blind eye to the reality that some muggles actually _are _fucking monsters, and that children deserve all the protection we can give them, maybe he wouldn't have turned a blind eye to what happened to _me!_ Because if he doesn't think that muggles will mistreat a magical child – that they'll lock them in a cupboard and refuse to let them out to use the loo, or feed them for days – then all he had to do was actually attend to his responsibilities as my Proxy, _just once_, and take one damn good look at the Dursley's!" Harry roared, feeling his throat tighten and the painful prickle of tears behind his eyes.

He closed his eyes firmly and turned his head away, feeling horrified that he'd gotten so worked up, and said so much.

Hermione was gaping at him in utter horror and disbelief. She sat there in silence, lost for words.

"Harry..." she whispered after several long beats of nothing had passed.

Harry pulled in a slow, deep breath, trying to calm down. He turned slowly and looked at her with slightly deadened eyes and she flinched. "I'm so sorry..." she said hoarsely.

Harry snorted bitterly. "If anyone owes me an apology, it's Dumbledore. But he won't even _look_ at me anymore. You know, before I was just afraid it was ignorant neglect, and as his political stance on the whole thing became more apparent, the more digging I did, I started to think that his refusal to attend to his duties as my Proxy was some sort of political thing – like he wanted to prove that the whole Proxy thing was pointless and unnecessary, so he was just _ignoring it_, but... but this whole thing with the Wizengamot seats – I don't know, Hermione, but it's really unsettled me. And really – how could he have not thought of habeas corpus, as a possible way to help Sirius? Dumbledore is the _Head of the Wizengamot!_ He writes bills! He presides over legislation once a month, and has to sit in on any really big legal hearings, at least once every several months, if not more often than that. _He knows the law_. Not only that, he has connections with people in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and all over in the Ministry. He could have _done something_ for Sirius. _Why hasn't he?"_

Hermione's lips were parted and she shook her head, helplessly. "I – I don't know, Harry."

"Everyone says that Albus Dumbledore is a great man. He's a powerful wizard – magically _and_ politically – but only by way of his connections and influence. In the Wizengamot, he has one vote in the House of Commons, and can cast a deciding vote in the case of a tie in the House of Lords. He can sponsor bills, but he still only has minimal _legal_ influence over what gets passed. He has to convince others in the House of Lords and House of Commons to cast votes in it's favor, and I'll admit that he's got enough sway with enough people that he could probably get a lot done this way, but having a whole _fifteen votes_ at his disposal would be awfully tempting, and terribly useful, don't you think?

"Dumbledore may have repeatedly refused to run for Minister of Magic, but I think he's probably got more influence over things where he is right now – so why run? He'd have to give up his position in the Wizengamot if he became Minister. Why would he do that? Everyone always made it sound like he'd made some grand sacrifice in not running for Minister – that he didn't want _power and influence_ – he'd much rather stay in the _simple_ position of Headmaster of Hogwarts and attending to his other responsibilities. What's more _influential_ than running the only sizable wizarding school in all of Britain, and what's more powerful than heading the legislative body of the wizarding world? It's all rubbish! He's not the man I thought he was, Hermione!"

Harry growled and leaned over in his seat, burying his head in his hands while he clawed at his hair, pulling it in frustration before heaving a defeated sigh.

"It's my own fault, really. I just believed what I was told and blindly followed along without doing any actual research for myself. I never looked into it, so I've only got myself to blame. People told me that Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world – he defeated the Dark Lord Grindlewald and was loved by generations of students. And I just took that and believed it like it meant something. Okay, so back in the 40's Dumbledore dueled a Dark Wizard and won – brilliant. Does that make him a 'Great Man' or just a 'Powerful Wizard'? The assumption is that the two are the same thing, but they're not!

"He projects this impression of a slightly mental, but happy wizard who is brilliant and powerful. He's this lovable but sort-of-crazy old wizard who twinkles at you when he's proud and comes off as omniscient and knows things he shouldn't, but he's still just a man, and he's not perfect or all-powerful. He has his own motives and his own agendas, and the more I learn about them all, the less and less convinced I am that he has my best interests at heart. I used to think that I knew Dumbledore – that I knew what sort of man he was and what sorts of things he'd be willing to do and what he wouldn't, but you know what? I don't think I know that at all, really. He's clearly willing to do things if he thinks the ends justifies the means. Even if that means turning his nose up on his legal responsibilities and allowing a helpless child to suffer."

Hermione was obviously terribly conflicted, but her confidence had clearly been shaken. She pulled in a calming breath of her own and waited a moment while Harry stewed in bitter silence.

"What happened after your meeting with Mr. Jennings?" she asked softly.

Harry sighed and sunk a bit into his seat. "I... I was a mess. I was really unsettled, obviously. I wasn't really watching where I was going and I ran right into Professor Monroe – like, _literally, I ran into him._" Harry let a weak chuckle escape him before it morphed into a sigh. "He could see that I was a mess and led me back to the castle, had an elf bring me camomile tea to help me calm down and we just talked. He let me vent, and it helped me sort through my thoughts. I lost track of time until just a bit ago when he realized we'd missed dinner and that I should probably get back to Gryffindor tower."

Hermione's face was clouded and she was giving Harry a speculative look. Harry flushed, remembering Maximilian's statement earlier that Hermione probably suspected that Harry fancied his Defense professor. He ducked his head, avoiding her gaze.

"Harry..." Hermione hedged hesitantly and Harry cringed at the tone in her voice, "is there anything about Professor Monroe that you... would like to tell me? You've been spending a lot of time with him after classes, and I see you sort of... _watching_ him in class and..." she trailed off hesitantly.

Harry flushed deeper, scowling at his inability to hide his emotions and reactions. He understood suddenly just how difficult it was going to be to keep the new shift in his relationship with his professor a secret. He heaved a defeated sigh, trying to work out how to tell her enough to satisfy her without telling her _too much._

"Not really," he grumbled in mild annoyance. "I mean... I might sort of... well, I _respect_ him. I think he's brilliant. He's the best Defense professor we've ever had – even you have to admit that."

Hermione gave a conceding sort of nod and a shrug.

"He..." Harry let out a frustrated huff and shrugged, swallowing his nerves. "I'm gay. But he's a teacher. It's just a crush."

Harry pulled his eyes up and looked at Hermione worriedly. Her eyes were wide for a moment before her features softened and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"Oh, Harry," she said and in a move that Harry hadn't expected at all, she stood up wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a rather awkward hug. "I'm so proud of you, Harry."

Harry felt like gaping at her incredulously.

"Proud of what?" he asked in bewilderment, patting her back somewhat uncomfortably, since she was still hugging him.

"For finally having the courage to tell me that you're gay," she said, finally pulling back and giving him an amused sort of look.

"'_Finally' _telling you? How long have you suspected that I'm gay?" he squawked slightly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, you've been eyeing up the other boys _all month_. I mean, you were especially obvious with your infatuation for Professor Monroe, but it hasn't been hard to notice you checking out others as well."

Harry's face paled in horror. "Shite, you really think it's been that obvious?" he asked worriedly, suddenly equal parts mortified and terrified of when it would appear on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Maybe he should include a warning about this in his letter to Mr. Jennings so his solicitor could pass it on to the Public Relations witch assigned to Harry.

"Well, it's been obvious _to me_," Hermione said, emphasizing the last bit. "I rather doubt that Ron's noticed anything. He's a bit dense with those sort of things."

"Yeah, but what about everyone _else?_ Do you think other people have figured it out?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Oh... I don't know," Hermione said, frowning and looking thoughtful. "I don't know if it's been _that_ obvious. I think I noticed because I've sort of wondered about that since last year."

"Last year?" Harry asked incredulously. He hadn't been checking any blokes out last year – had he?

"Well, it's just that you had _such_ a hard time with the Yule Ball, and the whole Cho Chang thing seemed rather contrived and forced. It was like you picked her because she seemed like what would be expected, more than you actually liking her. I mean, honestly Harry, do you even know a single thing about her, other than the fact that she's pretty and she plays Quidditch?"

Harry flushed with embarrassment as he mentally acknowledged that, no, he didn't know anything about her at all.

"Plus it just seemed like you were hit especially hard when Cedric refused to stand up for you at all, and started avoiding you."

"Well, I could hardly blame him," Harry mumbled bitterly. "The way Dumbledore and I have been blasted in the papers was awful – if he could avoid the same treatment then he should."

"Yeah, but it hurt your feelings, didn't it?" Hermione asked gently. "You were always watching him from across the hall and things. And the way you saved him at the end of the maze and offered to share the glory with him by both of you touching the cup... I don't know, but I sort of got the impression that maybe you fancied him a little, which was the real reason why you were upset when you found out that he was going out with Cho."

Harry flushed, taken back slightly by what she'd said, but then he paused and wondered if she might be right.

Cedric was an amazingly attractive guy, and Harry often found himself watching the tall Hufflepuff during the morning workouts, since the bloke tended to be at every one. He had amazing shoulders and arms, and was one of the few people who came to the morning classes that could do more than a few pull-ups. And Merlin did he look amazing when he did them...

Harry flushed deeper. Well, he would readily admit that he found Cedric entirely fanciable now, but had he somehow subconsciously been attracted to him, even a year prior? He supposed it was possible. He was perfectly willing to admit – if only to himself – that he was not the most self-aware person on the planet.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno.. maybe, I guess. I hadn't really thought about it."

Hermione made a humming sort of sound and nodded her head. "I had thought maybe that your lack of interest in girls was just because you were a bit of a late bloomer, or because of all the pressure and expectations people always have for you, but then I started to wonder if it was something else. So I was sort of _looking_ for that something else, you know? That's the only real reason it seemed so obvious to me this school year when you started noticing other boys. I don't think you really have to worry that it's all that obvious to everyone else. Still... if you're worried about people finding out, maybe you should try to tone it down a little," she ended hesitantly, looking at Harry apologetically.

Harry moaned in embarrassed misery but nodded.

After that Hermione wanted more details on what Harry and Professor Monroe had talked about, specifically, and Harry had told her bits and pieces and dodged some of her other questions. Part of him seriously wanted to vent to her about the discovery of the Prophecy and the fact that Dumbledore had been hiding it from Harry his whole life, but Maximilian had asked him not to tell anyone, and he supposed that was probably a good idea for now.

Finally, Hermione was satisfied and the pair left the room to return to Gryffindor Tower. Ron was there, playing exploding snap with the twins and Lee Jordan. He frowned at the sight of Harry and Hermione coming in together and asked them where they'd been, with an obvious air of annoyance at being left out. Hermione, indignantly pointed out that it was _Ron _who had run off to play Quidditch while she waited around worrying about Harry, and if he'd stuck around they would have taken him along for when they talked.

This really didn't seem to appease him at all, and after a bit of bickering and a few placating answers, the trio ended up on the couch and chair in front of the hearth doing their homework, in uneasy silence.

Later that night, after Harry had written his letter and sent it off with Hedwig, as well as finish up any homework he had due for Monday, Ron asked Harry what had happened to him in Hogsmeade. Harry told him a much more simplified answer than he'd given Hermione – saying that he'd learned some really unsettling things from his solicitor and was so upset that he left Hogsmeade, found himself a secluded spot, and took a nap. Ron, being Ron, accepted this abridged and highly edited version, and the two went to bed.

–

The following day passed in a bit of a numb blur with Harry oscillating between elated memories of the more intimate encounter's he'd shared with Maximilian, and worrying about the more disturbing things he'd learned from him and Mr. Jennings about Dumbledore and the prophecy.

The Debate club meeting, Sunday afternoon, offered an interesting distraction, and over the last three weeks Harry had come to enjoy the club for more reasons than simply the fact that Maximilian was the club sponsor and that Hermione thought such a club was a brilliant idea. Harry had come to find it remarkably interesting and surprisingly entertaining.

The debate subjects were often things Harry didn't know a lot about, but the debates taught him a lot about them, and more specifically, they taught him a lot about the two opposing sides of the issue, which wasn't usually something he got exposed to. Most of the time when he learned about an issue, it was either from a single person or source that already had formed an opinion on it, or it was from some dry book that was trying to remain _objective_. Either way, he either got a biased view, or a view that was lacking any substance behind it to explain why people got worked up over it. The debates, however, showed him exactly what points people were passionate about, and also showed him which of his fellow club members were most persuasive.

He sort of hated to admit it, but some of the Slytherins had the potential to be amazingly good public speakers. But he could also pick apart how they used their cunning and intelligence to manipulate certain details, bringing them to the forefront while lessening the value of others to the background, in order to point a person in the direction they wanted them to go. They certainly lived up to their house values.

Harry still hadn't felt up to volunteering to participate in any of the debates himself, but even so, he felt like he was getting a lot more out of the club than he had expected to when he'd signed up.

It wasn't until sometime after the club had ended, during dinner that evening, that Harry got an owl that turned his mood in a firmly sour direction. Harry had removed the letter from the owl's leg, seen the seal of his solicitor's firm and cut his meal short. He'd managed to beg off from his friends and left on his own, insisting he wanted some privacy, and ended up dodging into an empty classroom. He locked the door behind him, sat down on top of one of the desks and broke the wax seal with a sense of dread filling his gut.

The thick heavy envelope contained quite a few sheets of parchment, only the first of which was actually a letter. A quick scan told him that the others included details on all of his inherited Wizengamot seats – who'd they'd been left to him by and a brief summary of who had held those seats over the last two hundred years – and then a detailed record of what legislation each of those seats had voted on over the last twenty years.

The various seats were all left to him at different times, depending on when the previous holder had died, and if things were kosher, you would expect that each seat's voting record would be blank starting from the moment they came under Harry's ownership.

But they weren't.

Harry's blood felt _hot_ in his veins and his head felt pressured with his tightly bound rage. He put the records down and went back to the letter from Mr. Jennings to see specifically what it said.

Mr. Jennings first told Harry that he'd spent Saturday afternoon in the Wizengamot records department getting him the details that were attached with the letter and briefly explained what Harry had already figured out about them. He told Harry that from what he could tell, Dumbledore had never voted on any of the original seven seats that Harry had inherited from his father, but Dumbledore had been consistently using the additional eight that had been left to Harry in the years since 'You-Know-Who's' downfall in 1981.

Mr. Jennings also stated that while he did not yet have proof, he had reason to suspect that Dumbledore might have even been the one to convince at least a few of those people who left their seats to Harry, to give them to him. No doubt that none of these people would be quite gullible enough to give their family seats away to _Dumbledore_ himself, but could probably have been conned into giving them away to the poor orphaned boy who had 'saved' them all from Voldemort. Harry figured that Dumbledore probably eased his guilty conscious by telling himself that Harry wouldn't even have those seats if it weren't for him, but it didn't change the fact that his voting them without consulting Harry was entirely illegal.

Mr. Jennings said that he was already compiling a sizable file of evidence against Dumbledore's questionable actions against Harry and asked for permission to go interview Harry's muggle relatives. Harry felt a horrible sense of dread fill him at that prospect, but tried valiantly to squash it. Mr. Jennings promised to _try_ to maintain confidentiality as much as possible and keep Harry's private life private, but there was only so far he could go and in some cases, getting public opinion and sympathy on their side might be necessary to go up against the political powerhouse that was Albus Dumbledore.

However, he also pointed out that once it became clear that Harry was trying to break ties with Dumbledore and his influence, it was likely that Cornelius Fudge would start trying to make nice with him, and having the Minister on his side would go a long way.

This left a foul taste in Harry's mouth. Harry did _not_ like Cornelius Fudge. As far as Harry was concerned, the man was a pandering bastard who was putting the whole wizarding world at risk just for the sake of his own political ambitions.

One of the things that Harry had reluctantly included in his letter the previous night was to inform Mr. Jennings of his _preferences_ and noting that he would really rather it not get out to the press that he was gay. Mr Jennings, with Harry's permission, had forwarded that bit to Ms. Matthews from their PR department so that she would be prepared to handle any such stories breaking in the press – especially since she had contacts within all the major newspapers and magazines and would get forewarned. He also assured Harry that the magical confidentiality contract that had been signed when he first enlisted the firms services included her and she would be unable to tell anyone else that information without Harry's explicit permission. Harry was still nervous about the whole thing, but the idea of taking a proactive step in the matter instead of just sitting around and _hoping_ that the papers never got wind of it, was slightly reassuring.

Jennings also said that he had Ms. Matthews working with some of her contacts within the Prophet to start crafting some pieces to repair the public's perception of him, and that any stories would be passed through him first, before going to print. However, it might be necessary in the coming months for Harry to give a few interviews and asked Harry to outline some details for Ms. Matthews saying explicitly what he'd be willing to let out and what he specifically wanted to try and keep under wraps, like his sexuality.

After that, Jennings had written that, given all that they'd learned about Dumbledore and his deals, that it would be _negligent_ to _not_ start getting Harry out from under Dumbledore's legal control and that he was making it his priority to get the emancipation process started quickly and quietly. Just the same, he told Harry that if he really wanted to get into the Department of Mysteries and look at this supposed Prophecy, that they'd best do it soon before Dumbledore started to get wind that something is going on.

Harry found that he agreed with that. No matter how hard Dumbledore was trying to avoid Harry, he doubted that Dumbledore would remain ignorant of all this for very long. If Dumbledore really was hiding the Prophecy from Harry, he would probably do everything he could to keep Harry from hearing it. But so long as Dumbledore thought that Harry didn't know about it, he had a better chance of getting in unnoticed and hearing the thing for himself.

Jennings said he had many contacts within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but more important, he had a couple clients who were Unspeakables – but ,of course, he couldn't tell Harry who they were. Just the same, he would use them as a backdoor to get Harry in legally, but bypassing any official Ministry channels that might take notice of his request and report it to persons unwanted. He would be doing that Monday morning and would contact Harry as soon as the opportunity to go to the Ministry was available. They would have to come up with an excuse to get Harry out of Hogwarts and into London, since they couldn't afford to wait the month necessary for the next Hogsmeade Weekend to come along.

Harry ended up sitting in the empty classroom flipping through the records of the votes cast with his seats and fuming for the next few hours. He made notes on things to look up in the library and finally just wrote a letter back to Mr. Jennings thanking him for all his help and hard work and responding to a few specific inquires from the letter.

He also reluctantly gave them the go-ahead to go visit the Dursley's, but said it was probably a good idea if they waited until after Harry had visited the Department of Mysteries, since he was pretty sure that Dumbledore had all sorts of wards and things on the house and if any magical person went there, he might be notified. Finally, with a grim expression set firmly on his face, Harry retreated to Gryffindor Tower to sulk and fume.

Ron questioned him a little, but gave up quickly, opting to just give Harry his space. Hermione was far more persistent, however, and Harry ended up giving her access to the vote records from the Wizengamot seats, while holding back the actual letter since it contained some sensitive points, and with the secrecy charms, she wouldn't be able to read it anyway. Harry did take the time to point out a few of the legislative measures that he was actually familiar with that his votes had been used to help pass. He didn't like _any_ of them, and Hermione refrained from making any arguments in Dumbledore's defense when she saw the furious glint in Harry's eyes, and the hard set of his jaw.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: My weekend is going to be a little full - my daughter's 6th birthday party is Sunday - so I might be a little behind on posting the two chapters a day I've done all week. I'll try to still get two posted, but I can't be sure I will, because I have no idea what sort of computer time I'll have access to.

Harry's foul mood persisted until the following morning, although it was lightened somewhat by the vague impression of pleasant dreams. It was Monday morning and as had become the norm, Harry got up bright and early – far earlier than any of his dorm mates – and made his way to the hall outside of the Defense classroom for the morning jog and calisthenics class.

Harry felt awkward and nervous, but tried to hide it. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't refrain from looking at his professor with what was probably a stupid look of adoration, as soon as the man arrived. Maximilian was as professional as ever, and there was only one very brief moment when their eyes met and Harry saw a glimmer of a grin appear on the man's face before it was wiped away and the group was called to get started.

Harry probably pushed himself harder that day than he ever had before – and he'd honestly been pushing himself pretty hard for the last few weeks. It wasn't like he had only just suddenly wanted to impress the man; he'd been wanting to impress him all term; but now it was more like Harry wanted to prove to him that Harry really was worth his time and the not-inconsiderable risk that the man was taking. It wasn't really a conscious choice on Harry's part, so much as something he just _felt _the need to pursue. He needed to be stronger – to be quicker – to be _better_.

But even without the motivation of impressing his love interest and professor, Harry had found over the last couple weeks that he was very much starting to enjoy the results of his morning training regimen. He could _see_ the difference it was making, and he liked what he was seeing. He felt like he was finally starting to get beyond that gangly awkward stage where he looked like certain bits of him had grown at a different rate than the rest of him, and other bits were underdeveloped, most likely due to consistent malnourishment in his youth and summers. He _liked_ how he was starting to fill out a bit, and while he'd probably always be a bit on the short side, at least he no longer looked so scrawny.

He was developing some nice brawn on him that regular Quidditch training couldn't really put on a person by itself since so much of that time was spent on a broom. The sit-ups and crunches were giving him a rather appealing stomach, and the pull-ups were helping his arms and shoulders to develop and broaden. Ever since having become aware of his growing appreciation for the masculine form, Harry found that he was a lot more interested in making sure that _he_ looked nice, which was something he'd never concerned himself with before this year.

The workout class ended with Harry puffing and out of breath, but feeling enthusiastic and a lot more high spirited than he had the night prior when he'd done little more than brood. The fact that he'd also gotten the opportunity to observe Professor Monroe – no, _Maximilian_ – working out in form-fitting cotton trousers and a sleeveless undershirt, certainly didn't hurt his mood any. The good mood was slightly spoiled when Harry had little choice but to leave with everyone else when the class was over. Maximilian had given him a small parting smile, but nothing more.

Harry didn't get another opportunity to speak with Maximilian again until later that afternoon when he had Defense. He tried to distract himself through the course of the day by trying to pay attention in his classes. He was trying to pay his school work more attention in general, but with as crazy as his weekend had been, he'd only skimmed the pre-reading for for Potions and Snape caught him with several questions he didn't know the answers to, so Harry left Potions feeling as frustrated and annoyed as ever.

The rest of the day was a bore until Defense, which was as brilliant as ever. But afterwards when Harry hung behind as the rest of the students filed out of the room, Maximilian came over with an apologetic look and told Harry that he couldn't stick around this afternoon because there was a staff meeting.

Harry was disappointed, but tried to hide it as he gave the older wizard a weak smile, said it was fine, and saying goodbye.

Harry was nearly done translating the parselscript book and he considered working on that with his unexpected freetime, but his mind lingered back to yet another potions class filled with public humiliation and felt a sense of determination fill him. Next time Snape started bombarding him with questions, he was going to be ready. He'd show that greasy bastard. He could just imagine the shocked look on Snape's face if Harry actually knew the answers to his ruddy questions.

Ron found Harry in the common room with his Potions book and two of the 'companion texts' that Hermione was always going on about – one was a reference book about ingredient properties and the other was a book that apparently went over the best techniques for good brewing habits, ingredient preparation, and taking care of your tools. He took one look at Harry with his nose buried deep in a book with a notebook filled with scribbled notes on his lap, made a disgusted sort of noise and announced that he was going out to the pitch to get in some more practice.

Harry hummed and waved him off, without even looking up. Hermione was clearly proud of Harry's new determination and rolled her eyes at Ron's obvious lack of said focus.

The following day at breakfast Harry got another letter from Mr. Jennings and once again cut his meal short for the sake of some privacy to read before classes. This one was fairly short with some responses to a few specific PR issues they'd discussed, an update on the goings-on with suing the Prophet, and outlining what Harry could expect from the emancipation process once they they really started to move forward on it.

Then he covered the visit to the Department of Mysteries. Mr. Jennings had already managed to arrange for Harry to visit and it would be kept very hush-hush. The visit was scheduled for for the morning of October 13th – the coming Saturday, and also the morning after the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match. The trick was going to be getting Harry out of the school without Dumbledore noticing.

Harry frowned, wondering how exactly he was going to do this – getting out of the school was actually pretty simple, since he knew of a couple tunnels he could use to get down to Hogsmeade, and he had his cloak to avoid being seen – but the issue of getting from Hogsmeade to London... _that_ he wasn't so sure about.

He finally decided to just ask Maximilian for help that afternoon and write back to Mr. Jennings when he had an answer. After his last class of the day he parted from his friends and dropped by the Defense classroom but it was empty. He made his way up to the sixth floor and knocked on the door to Maximilian's office.

He stood there, butterflies stirring up chaos in his stomach for inexplicable reasons. It was weird, but he'd never actually been to the professor's office without having been brought there by the professor himself or being invited ahead of time. He always met up with the man in the Defense classroom.

He almost jumped when the door suddenly opened, but when then filled with irrational glee as he was faced with the object of his affection.

"Hello Harry," Maximilian said in a low, welcoming tone as he smiled down at Harry. "Come in," he continued as he stepped back and motioned for Harry to enter the room. The door was closed behind him and Harry only hesitated for a moment in the space beyond the door before just walking over to the arrangement of chairs and couch that was placed by the large hearth and waiting.

Maximilian waved his hand towards his desk and a messy pile of parchment there seemed to suddenly order themselves into a neat stack while an ink well capped itself and moved off to the side.

"Am I interrupting?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Maximilian smiled at him, "I can always make time for you, Harry."

Harry flushed, but couldn't stop himself from grinning widely.

"Now what do I owe the pleasure of the visit?" Maximilian asked as he joined Harry by the hearth, took a seat on the short couch and then motioned for Harry to sit beside him.

Harry tried not to smile too widely in obvious pleasure at the seating arrangement, and instead just sat down. He hesitated and then decided it was probably best not to get _too_ close just yet. He needed to talk about some stuff first and he didn't think his mind could stay focused enough if he touched the other man at all.

"I got another letter from Mr. Jennings. He's arranged for me to go to the Department of Mysteries _Saturday morning!_ He wants me to come to his office and from there he's going to get me into the Department of Mysteries through a more private entry so I'm not seen by a lot of people at the Ministry, but I've got to find some way to get to London first. I know a few ways I could sneak into Hogsmeade but I wasn't sure what to do from there. Best I could come up with was to use Madam Rosemerta's floo, but I know she'd report me to the school if she caught me."

"Ah, well that's an easy enough problem to solve. You can just use my floo," Maximilian said smirking and motioning his hand towards the large hearth.

Harry's eyes widened and his head turned to look at it.

"I could use that?"

"Correct."

"Really? And Dumbledore wouldn't know?"

"Not if we go through at the same time. Mind you, it's a bit disorienting to try and floo with someone else in your arms and it requires close contact, but it _is_ possible. My presence will mask yours from any aspect of the floo network's wards that the Headmaster might be able to monitor in some way. I use the Floo in here rather frequently – I tend to prefer sleeping in my flat in Hogsmeade rather than the quarters supplied here at the school, and I make regular trips into Hogsmeade for business. I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to occasionally check on the floo activity of his teachers – especially _Defense_ professors given the track record – but I doubt he's keeping tabs on _every single trip_ I make with it."

"Oh, wow. Well, that's brilliant then. I don't even have to sneak into Hogsmeade."

"We can floo directly to Mr. Jennings office from here," Maximilian confirmed with a nod.

Harry grinned widely, hugely relieved for the solution being so easy.

"Now, since you're here – how much time do you have available right now?" Maximilian asked twisting slightly in his seat so that he was leaning more against the arm of the couch and facing Harry.

"Oh, er... well I don't really _have_ to leave until dinner, I guess. I wasn't really planning on doing any serious homework study until after dinner. Why?"

"Well, I mentioned to you on Saturday that I would like to teach you Occlumency. I was thinking that we could perhaps take an hour right now and go over an introduction and work on laying a foundation."

"Oh! Yeah, that'd be fine. Although, I still don't totally know what it is," Harry added sheepishly.

"At it's most basic, Occlumency is the magical defense of the mind against external penetration and influence. It is very obscure these days as the Ministry has made many attempts over the years to ban it. They have yet to make practicing it illegal, because it is a defensive form of magic – the _only_ defense, in fact, against anyone practicing Legilimency, which they_ have_ made illegal – not that anyone who practices it cares. Dumbledore certainly doesn't," Maximilian muttered sardonically. "But in addition to being the only defense against Legilimency, a skilled Occlumens would also be able to defeat a number of truth serums, lie detectors, and a few other investigation tools that the Ministry often makes use of – thus their attempts to ban the practice."

"Wait – what's that other thing – the Legi-whatever thing?"

"Legilimency is the act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings. Laymen sometimes refer to Legilimency as 'mind-reading,' but those who practice the art generally disdain this term as naïve, as it's far more complicated a process than the term 'mind-reading' suggests."

"And there are people who can do this?" Harry asked in horror – then another thought registered, "Wait – _Dumbledore_ can do this?"

"Yes. He can and he does on a regular basis. I've witnessed him doing it to students, in fact. Not that I could _prove _it. Of course, unless a wizard or witch is trained in some level of Occlumency, they rarely even know that Legilimency is being used against them, so the victim doesn't even know that their privacy has been violated. As for other bystanders who might have witnessed these incidents with students, few know how to identify the signs properly, and anyone else here who might have come to recognize them tend to be loyal enough to the Headmaster that they would likely lie for him if he were ever accused of it publicly."

"Well, I may not like that the Ministry is trying to ban Occlumency, but I don't exactly mind the idea that people aren't legally allowed to go around reading my mind – er, or navigating it," Harry said with a grimace.

"Mmm, yes. However, making Legilimency illegal was really just one of the Ministry's steps in preventing people from learning Occlumency."

"Wait, what?"

"You cannot learn Occlumency without an instructor who knows Legilimency. If it is illegal to perform Legilimency at all, then it's impossible to teach Occlumency, and therefore, impossible to _learn_ Occlumency. It wasn't until certain factions within the Ministry began taking steps to ban Occlumency and encountered roadblocks that they finally made Legilimency illegal – which obviously, was much easier to ban as it's a very offensive practice to use against the defenseless."

Harry gaped at him, incredulously. "But that's – that's crazy! I mean – if anything, Legilimency against anyone unwilling should be illegal, and those who are Occlumency instructors should have permission to use it, so that more people could learn to protect themselves! Why would the Ministry care more about stopping people from defeating truth potions, but not care about stopping people from randomly reading people's minds?"

"Most people within high positions in the Ministry have long ago learned Occlumency on their own, so they can already protect their minds against any Legilimens' – not that there are many of them anyway since it's so difficult to master. Ministry officials of high enough office can also get Occlumency lessons, taught by one of the Unspeakables who has a pass for using Legilimency. Those who practice Legilimency don't really cause the Ministry's officials any trouble, and there's so few of them, why make a fuss about it? But people who practice Occlumency, in contrast, _do_ give them trouble because they are able to get around some of the most common tools that the DMLE uses when investigating accusations of crimes."

"But what about the people! About the public! They're the ones that the laws are supposed protect and benefit! I – argh! Merlin, I _hate_ the Ministry!" Harry growled out in frustrated anger.

Maximilian hummed sympathetically while nodding his head and looking at Harry sadly. "I remember when I first became truly disillusioned by how utterly corrupt and selfish our government is. It's certainly not an enjoyable realization to endure – they say that ignorance is bliss for a reason, after all. Its so much easier to just _not know_ the truth – to go on living your life in a small world that's simple and doesn't result in worrying about bigger-picture problems that you often feel helpless to do anything about. It's frustrating, but I don't think the simplicity of ignorance is worth it. Too many people are complacent – happy to be ignorant. And as long as they go on letting the Ministry do as they please, nothing will ever get fixed."

Harry was nodding in agreement and his face was stern with determination. Maximilian smiled at him, obviously pleased.

"Now, I think it's time we got back on track," Maximilian said after several moments silence had passed, allowing Harry more time to think and stew. "I have a theory that may assist in you learning Occlumency quite a bit faster than is normally possible."

"Oh?" Harry said, his interest perking and his focus returning to the older wizard.

"Yes. Generally, people such as yourself – people who 'wear their heart on their sleeve' as it were – have a lot of trouble mastering Occlumency. I believe that you are actually very in-touch with your feelings about the things that you've been through – you're not repressed at all about them. You face them, head-on, and that is actually a very healthy approach, mentally, so I commend you for that. However, it also means that you would likely have trouble suppressing your emotions, which is the approach most people start with when learning Occlumency.

"A more advanced form of Occlumency is to magically compartmentalize your thoughts, memories, and emotions, ahead of time so that when you come under attack from a Legilimens, you can more easily 'put things away' and deny the intruder access to it. This is also the most ideal approach to take for what we're also wanting the Occlumency for – the ability for you to subdue the strength and influence that our contact has on your ability to think clearly."

Harry nodded, although he still looked a bit lost and unsure. "Okay, so how do I magically compartmentalize my thoughts?"

"That is where I think we might have an unusual advantage. Our identical magical signatures might allow me to better guide you in the process. Usually the process of compartmentalizing the mind cannot be performed until the person has learned how to suppress all of their thoughts and emotions and totally clear their mind. A totally suppressed mind prevents a Legilimens from getting at your thoughts, memories, and emotions, however it is also blatantly obvious to the Legilimens that you're doing it. After all, all they find is a vast empty nothingness when they enter your mind.

'The act of compartmentalizing the mind allows an Occlumens to only put away the memories, emotions, and thoughts that would reveal to the Legilimens that they are being lied to or deceived. A truly skilled Occlumens can let a Legilimens into their mind, hide what they want hidden, and mislead the Legilimens into thinking that they're intrusion is undetected. There are truly only a handful of Occlumens powerful and skilled enough to do such a thing against someone like Dumbledore, and I rather doubt there are any who could fool Voldemort."

Harry's lips were parted in something akin to amazement and horror, all mixed-up. Then a dawning new horror filled his eyes. "Wait, so Voldemort is a Legilimens too?"

"Of course. There are those that say he's the most skilled Legilimens to have ever lived. No one could lie to him and get away with it," Maximilian stated, and the corner of his lips curled up, ever so slightly.

"Oh Merlin," Harry whispered hoarsely before groaning and sinking back into the corner of the couch. "I guess that doesn't matter too much right now. I just need to learn enough so that we can touch without me going all loopy... and I guess I'd also like to make sure I can keep Dumbledore from reading my mind. Do you think I'd have any chance of pulling that off? I mean, he's probably the most powerful wizard in Britain, after Voldemort."

"_After_ Voldemort?" Maximilian asked with a tinge of amusement in his tone.

Harry flushed and shrugged. "Or maybe before. I don't really know, I guess. Everyone has always said that Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort feared to duel but... what does 'everyone' know, anyway? That's hardly a source."

Maximilian smiled proudly. "Very good Harry. You're right. The idea that 'everyone' says something is true, makes it true, is a very common fallacy – one that many people fall into quite regularly. I'm glad that you've realized that for yourself."

Harry flushed, ducking his head with pleased embarrassment as pleased warmth rushed through his chest.

"It's difficult to say which of the two was truly more powerful during the war in the 70's," Maximilian said then, in a musing tone. "As for which one is more powerful now – well, we can't know that at all, can we? Seeing as how we don't know what state Voldemort is in now. Is he still insane? Or has he perhaps regained some of his senses? I suspect that Voldemort may have always been the more powerful wizard, but he had done things to himself – terrible things that no man should ever do to themselves, and he paid a price that even he had not foreseen. I believe that the price he paid was not just his good looks and charisma, but most notably, his _sanity, _his_ logical reasoning, _and his sense.

"He became irrational and lost the ability to differentiate between what would achieve his goals and what would just cause havoc and chaos. While his insanity made him more unpredictable and dangerous – _more feared –_ it also made him more susceptible to trickery and manipulations. Dumbledore's cunning was able to win in the end – and it was no battle of power or skill, but a battle of wits and luck."

Harry was staring at the older wizard sitting opposite on the small couch with a slightly gaping mouth, and at a total loss for words. He'd certainly never heard anyone say such things before, nor had he read any such thing before in any books – but then again, no one ever wanted to _talk_ about 'You-Know-Who', let alone write anything useful about him. It was a wonder whenever Harry found anything about that time _at all._

"How... how do you know all that? Did you read it somewhere?"

"Well, I _was_ alive during the time," Maximilian said with a grin. "I suppose you could also say that I've made something of a point to study the man and the events of the war. To understand what all went wrong."

Harry nodded his head wordlessly.

"So – again, we've been side-tracked," Maximilian said with a chuckle. "How about we at least attempt some of this Occlumency stuff, hmm?"

"Oh, sure. Erm... what do I need to do?"

"I am going to cast Legilimens on you and enter your mind. I'm not going to go sifting through your memories or anything like that, however. Instead, I'm going to see if I can help you form a mindscape by copying the foundation for my own to your mind. Since our magical frequencies are the same, I think that this might actually work. Normally, it would be impossible because everyone's magic works so differently and everyone's mind is structured differently. Our minds are, no doubt, quite different, but the identical nature of our magic should allow me to lay a foundation for you. It will likely feel very strange at first – maybe even uncomfortable or disorienting. I would ask that you maintain eye contact for as long as you can. If you feel a tug, close your eyes, focus on my presence, and follow it. Are you ready?"

Harry sat up straighter, turning so that his knees were nearly brushing up against Maximilian's and he nodded. "Okay, I'm ready."

Maximilian gave him a short nod and grinned approvingly for a moment before pulling out his wand and shifting to an expression of determination. He aimed his wand at Harry and softly spoke the incantation, _"Legilimens!"_

At first, Harry didn't feel anything at all, and wondered if it had worked, but then, ever so slowly, he began to feel a pressure building behind his eyes. His forehead felt especially pressured, and he broke out in a mild sweat, blinking several times to try and clear the sharp waves of dizziness that crashed over him every few seconds, but forcing his eyes to remain open and focused on Maximilian a moment later.

Maximilian, remained sitting opposite him, perfectly still, and with his eyes still open, staring Harry in the eyes. But he had a rather vacant look to his eyes, and his expression was one of a man in deep concentration.

The pressure in Harry's head began to grow, significantly, and Harry found himself fighting to remain sitting upright. His torso wanted to curl into itself, and his hands went up to grip as his head, trying to endure the pressure a bit longer. Something in his head felt like it was being shifted, forcibly, and uncomfortably. It felt unnatural and despite his best efforts, and his now tightly clenched teeth, a small keening whine managed to escape his throat as his eyes finally fell closed and he doubled over, curling into something of a ball; still clutching at his head.

Then, he gasped as something seemed to _snap_ into place. The pressure and discomfort was gone in an instant, and everything in the world seemed to turn on it's side, metaphorically speaking, anyway. Everything just felt, _different_ somehow. Weird and a little foreign. And yet, in stark contrast, there was a small feeling of _rightness _to it too. Almost a _familiarity_. Like some long distant, forgotten memory of a home that only the tiniest part of him remembered.

Another gasp escaped his lips and he felt a _tug_. Quickly he pulled his eyes back closed and tried to make sense of the instructions he'd been given to 'focus on Maximilian's presence in his mind'. At first, he had no idea how to do that, but as soon as he actually concentrated a bit, he was instantly aware of the feeling of someone else being with him. There was another presence in his mind, and it was comfortable, familiar, and warm. He focused on the welcoming presence and felt as if he were falling. That feeling you get sometimes when dreaming of falling; where you're not afraid.

And just as suddenly as the feeling had started, it stopped. He felt as if he'd just instantly found himself standing, and the sense of vertigo disappeared. He opened his eyes and blinked several times against the glare.

He wasn't in Maximilian's office anymore. The space was just... vast. And white. There was nothing. He turned in a circle, searching for any signs of anything else and came to a sudden halt as he found Maximilian standing directly behind him, grinning quite smugly.

"I knew it would work," he stated simply.

"Max!" he exclaimed in surprise, feeling disoriented. "Where are we?"

"In you're new mindscape. You'll have to do something with it now, as it's obviously quite blank, but I did the initial construction and suppression of the old contents for you, so the rest will be much easier. Meditation exercises each night will do most of the rest."

"Wait – this is my mind?"

"Yes, of course."

Harry looked around again, feeling rather blank but also somewhat bewildered by the obvious lack of... well, _anything._

"I would have expected it to be a bit more... cluttered."

Maximilian snorted. "Oh, believe me, it _was_. Outrageously so. And the mess is definitely still there, it's just tucked away right now. I suppressed it all into a contained spot and you'll have to sort through it yourself and organize things into compartments of your own design. You'll probably feel a bit off kilter until you can get things 'unpacked' a bit."

"Oh," Harry said, wondering if that explained how off balance and detached he felt at the moment. He felt sort of like he was turned-off upstairs, and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked it or not. He wasn't sure he felt anything about it at all. "So... how do I unpack and sort stuff? There's nothing here."

"There's a box at your feet," Maximilian stated simply.

Harry frowned, because he was absolutely sure that there was no box at his feet a moment ago, but when he looked down, one suddenly appeared. He blinked at it. "Oh. So there is."

"It's has no limit or bottom. It's not a real box, obviously. Just a representation of a container and right now everything is inside it. Here, in this place, all you have to do is believe it and it's true. What you'll need to do is create a system by which you can place things into protected categories. It's up to you how you want to do this. The visual representation isn't really important outside of how important it is to _you_. Some people get extremely elaborate, while some stick with very simple representations. I've seen minds where the Occlumens had constructed a giant castle filled with locked doors, and surrounded by a motte filled with monsters to keep people out – honestly, I think that's over doing it a bit. Not to mention _obvious_, since it's a huge fortified building clearly designed to keep people out. No Legilimens would come across that and not suspect you were hiding things."

"What does yours look like?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

"A vast library, filled with books," Maximilian said simply, smiling. "Many, _many_ books. And most of them don't contain any memories or thoughts of value at all. They're just there to make it harder to find the ones that _are_ important."

Harry grinned, feeling it was appropriate. "So even in your mind, you horde books?"

Maximilian grinned cheekily and shrugged.

"But with your books..." Harry started hesitantly with a thoughtful pucker in his brows, "how do you protect your memories and stuff from intruders? Sure, they'd have to find the right book, but they _could_ just stumble across one of the important ones right away by fluke. The castle and motte and stuff sounds like a better defense."

"The mindscape only has to keep your thoughts, feelings, and memories _hidden_ from the intruder for a short time. And the more subtly you can do this, the better. Once a person has established a mindscape that they are consciously in touch with – as you now should be since you are in it – the moment a Legilimens intrudes upon their mind, they will instantly feel it. Someone who has not been trained at all, in any way, can be fooled by a Legilimens who is delicate and gentle in their intrusion. They won't even know that it's happening. But, now, you will. You can actually kick the attacker out of your mind, forcefully, but they will obviously know that you've done this.

"The trick will be not letting the attacker know that you're aware of their intrusion, but still getting rid of them just the same. What you need to do, instead, is break the connection as gently as they made the initial intrusion. Give them the boot without them realizing that you've done so."

"How do I do that?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.

"Break eye-contact," Maximilian said with a smirk.

"That's it?" Harry asked almost incredulously.

Maximilian grinned. "That's it. Eye-contact is required for the initial connection, and it must be maintained while the Legilimens is sifting through the person's mind. We have a unique connection, so I'm not convinced that we have the same limiting requirement, but I would have to test that later on to be sure."

"Oh... okay, so if I'm with Dumbledore and he actually looks me in the eye," Harry muttered this part rather bitterly, "and I suddenly feel like there's someone in my head... what should I do? Just look away? That's it?"

"For now, that would be best. You may find it difficult to look away at first, but I think that you're stubborn and willful enough to manage. Most Legilimens place in the compulsion to maintain eye contact and not blink when they first enter a mind.

"You'll want to find some way to look away and do not look back in his eyes. Avoiding eye contact repeatedly, however, would become obvious after a while. He would realize that you were purposefully avoiding his eyes to prevent him from getting into your mind and he would grow suspicious. After you've started sorting your thoughts, I'll cover how to generate triggers that will instantly 'put away' the clutter that constantly floats through a person's conscious mind.

"You'll also need to prepare a few sets of 'safe' thoughts and memories, or else the overly clean state of your mind would make it obvious that you're hiding things. You could have a book, or a filing cabinet, or a box, set aside with _just_ the 'safe' public thoughts and memories, and whenever you feel like someone has intruded upon your mind, you put away everything else while pulling out the safe ones. The initial intrusion into a person's mind is very disorienting, since the Legilimens has to adjust to the way the foreign mind works, and set the compulsion to maintain eye-contact. If you act quickly enough, you can get this your clean-up and prep done before the disorientation ends, and they won't even suspect you've done anything."

"Alright. And you'll show me how to do all this?"

"Of course," Maximilian said with a reassuring smile. "Now – what do you think you'd like to do with your mindscape?" he asked, motioning his hand around the vast white space.

Harry looked around, although there really was nothing to look at, and pondered that question. He found himself leaning towards the library idea, too. It felt _right_. Like, this space was designed for it – even though the space was big, empty, and clearly not designed for anything at all. But the idea of a big, vast expanse of books in this space just felt natural and familiar somehow.

"Books," Harry finally said with a nod.

"Then you'll need bookshelves."

– –


	11. Chapter 11

Harry arrived to dinner several minutes late and had to spend a few minutes dodging questions from Ron and Hermione and a few others as to where he'd been all afternoon. He still felt a bit off balance and found it hard to get enthusiastic about the discussions going on around him. Maximilian had told him it would be expected for him to feel a bit detached from his emotions right now because they were still all sort of 'put away'. They'd done a little unpacking, but Maximilian had explained that the sorting process was usually a very personal one since Harry would be reliving a number of his memories and the more unpleasant memories he had, the more likely it was that the process would not be an easy one.

He'd gone over a lot of instruction on what Harry needed to do tonight and during the coming nights. He'd even gone so far as to tell Harry that if he encountered any problems that he could come to his quarters at night, and that he'd make sure he was there for the rest of the week. His quarters, it turned out, were attached to his office, through a door hidden behind one of the many bookcases. Harry had felt like he should be a bit disconcerted or worried about what he was facing, especially considering Maximilian's offer to help if things got 'really bad', yet he didn't feel all that worried at all... he supposed that was part of the whole 'detachment' thing.

Maximilian had also told him that his mind would likely be clearer and more logical while he was like this, but even after he'd sorted things and 'reconnected' with his emotions, he would find his mind a lot clearer. His memory would also be improved, and Harry found nothing wrong with that, at all.

As Harry and his dorm mates were leaving the Great Hall sometime later, they had a brief run in with Draco Malfoy and his 'gang'. It wasn't all that much of a run-in really – Goyle brushed roughly past Ron, knocking him into Dean and almost tripping Neville – which got a laugh from Malfoy and the rest of them. Ron shot off at them angrily, which resulted in Malfoy sending a few taunts at Ron about how Slytherin was looking forward to an easy win this coming Friday.

Harry just stood back from the whole thing, watching with a strange detached curiosity. Not at the scene before him, but at his own lack of reaction to it. It was a very peculiar sensation to witness Malfoy being an arse, and not feeling righteously indignant and furious over the whole thing.

He frowned at his own behavior but couldn't find it in himself to be overly upset. He shook his head, feeling weirdly off-balance, only refocusing on the present when he realized that Malfoy and his gang were striding away, still laughing, and Ron was grumbling angrily after them. The group of Gryffindors finally made their own journey up to their common room and Harry wasted little time in getting to the homework he'd put off earlier.

It was remarkably easy to focus, and by the end of the night, he'd gotten nearly a whole weeks worth of assignments finished or prepped for. Hermione was quite impressed with his dedication and success, smiling at him. Ron, in contrast, hadn't gotten much of anything done, as he'd been far too worried about the upcoming Quidditch match to think about anything else.

Harry felt as if he should say or do something to help reassure his friend, and yet he couldn't think of anything to do or say, and so instead, he just bid Ron goodnight and headed to bed. After his night-time routine was complete, Harry found himself sitting cross-legged in the center of his bed with the hangings drawn and a small-area quieting spell since Maximilian had said there was the potential for making noise while he 'dreamed'.

With his mind as clear as it was, it was surprisingly simple to follow Maximilian's instructions from earlier for how to re-enter his mindscape, and from there it was merely a matter of starting the 'unpacking' process.

–

Harry jerked bolt upright in bed with a strangled gasp, almost instantly followed by a pitiful whine. He curled up into a ball, pulling his knees taught to his chest and burying his face in his arms as they wrapped around his legs. He found himself rocking back and forth, breathing heavily and trying to calm his racing heart. He was damp with sweat and his hair was stuck to his forehead and his eyes stung with both sweat and tears.

His mind was a whirl and he felt as if he couldn't get the storm of thoughts and emotions there to calm into an orderly fashion. It was such a stark contrast to the state his mind had been in, mere hours earlier, and it was possible that the contrast had added to his difficulties, but he was in no position to really see that at the moment.

He pulled his head back and blinked into the darkness. He was suddenly overcome with the most awful sense of claustrophobia. It was so dark within the heavy hangings of his bed that he couldn't see anything, and his mind instantly substituted his comfortable, safe, four-poster bed in Hogwarts with the dank, dusty, spider-infested cupboard that was so freshly imprinted upon his mind. He felt like a very small child all over again; filled with fear, confusion, and the deep seeded knowledge that he was not wanted. He was something dirty to be hidden away – _locked away – _somewhere dark and dusty and smelling of urine and filth where no decent person would ever live. But he wasn't decent. He was a freak. He _deserved_ it.

The image of his cupboard filled his mind so vividly that he could even smell the awful stench surrounding him. The dust mixed in with mold and blood and his own urine from the times he'd been locked in and had no choice but to pee in the small bucket he'd scavenged and hid in the corner. Then suddenly and without warning, he started brushing at his arms and body frantically; irrationally convinced that there were spiders on him and wanting them off – needing them gone. He needed out. He couldn't be in this little space. He needed out!

Harry practically rolled out of his bed and onto the floor beside it as he frantically pushed the hangings off his head, swatting at them in irrational horror and struggling with the sheets and blankets twisted around his feet. As soon as he was free, he was scooting along the floor in a panic until his back hit against his trunk.

There was more light now that he was out from behind the hangings, and he could make out his dorm room in the dim moonlight coming in through the windows. His heart was racing so hard in his chest he could practically feel it pounding against his ribcage. His breath was coming in panicked shallow pants and he was still overcome with the urge to brush at his arms and his head every few seconds as some new phantom arachnid skittered over his flesh in his mind's eye.

Enough of his senses returned to him with the familiar sight of his dorm room for Harry to know that he didn't want to wake any of his dorm mates. How could he possibly explain to them what was going on? The last thing he wanted was for any of them to see him in the middle of some crazed panic attack. He was just grateful that his programming as a child to _keep quiet_ above all else, had been in play, preventing him from calling out as he woke up in such a state. Despite his desperate desire for the other boys in his room to _not _know, some other part of him – the freshly unearthed scared little boy – was desperate for someone to be there with him. To hold him and protect him and assure him that he was safe and it was just a bad dream. _Bad memories._ That thing he had always desperately wished for as a child, but never received.

His mind didn't even consider waking Ron – that would be far too awkward anyway, and it really wouldn't accomplish what Harry wanted or needed anyway. No, his mind went right to Maximilian and he instantly remembered the man's promise to be in his office or rooms all night, and the open invitation for Harry to join him should he need it.

Without even a moment's hesitation, Harry twisted around, flipped the lid up on his trunk and dug around inside it, searching for the familiar silky fabric of his father's invisibility cloak. His fingers found it after only a half a minute of questing for it. He pulled it out and let the lid fall quietly closed on his trunk. He slipped on a pair of trainers, grabbed a robe from the floor beside his bed and then tossed the invisibility cloak over his head and shoulders. After making sure he had his wand as well, Harry left the room as quietly as he could.

He didn't encounter anyone in the common room, which wasn't surprising as late as it was, and the fat lady only made a small token protest as he opened her portrait and slipped out and towards the stairs. He cursed his lack of foresight when he had to duck into an alcove when he heard Filch muttering in the distance. He should have grabbed the map as well, but the entrance to Gryffindor tower was on the 7th floor and Maximilian's office was on the 6th, so he hadn't thought it would be a problem. Really, he just hadn't thought much at all. He was mostly working on instinct and adrenaline at the moment.

Finally, he was sure the coast was clear and he quickly traversed the remaining distance to the elder wizard's office. Just as he was approaching the door, it opened and Maximilian stepped out, looking down the hall with a concerned expression marring his perfect features. His head turned and their eyes met. Even though Harry was invisible at the moment, he was still entirely convinced that Maximilian could sense him and he found himself instantly rushing forward. His arms went out and wrapped around the other man as he practically crashed into him. Despite seeming to know Harry was coming, the man still made something of an 'umfph!' grunt as Harry impacted, but didn't waste another moment before wrapping his arms around Harry in return and guiding him back into the room.

The second Harry had wrapped his arms around Maximilian, his turbulent emotions fizzled away into a background hum, and instead he was filled with warmth and the calm reassuring presence of the other man. His nerves were alight with that wonderful pleasant tingling, but the delicate state he'd been in mere moments earlier seemed to have muted the normally intense sexual side to their direct contact. Instead Harry just felt protected and safe and _exhausted_. He didn't feel scared anymore. He had that thing he was wanting – that thing he'd always wanted but always been denied.

"Shhh... it's okay, it's okay," Maximilian was saying in a soft, reassuring voice as he managed to move his hands around the invisible figure in his arms enough to find the hood and remove it from Harry's head. Harry's face was buried in Maximilian's shoulder and he was shaking with the force of his relief. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't realize it would be so bad for you. I should have insisted that you stay here from the start," he went on, sounding legitimately concerned.

"I should have known, of course... you feel things with such intensity. I _knew_ that. I should have known –"

"Can you just hold me?" Harry whispered into the man's shoulder and Maximilian sighed.

"Of course. But we need to finish this, Harry. The only way to get past these feelings is to keep moving forward with the meditation. You can't remain where you stopped and function normally.

"I can't," Harry whimpered, shaking his head. "I can't go back in there."

"I'll be with you this time," Maximilian said with a firm, determined, tone. "I'll go into your mindscape with you and hold you while you complete the initial viewing. We'll get through the worst of it together. Think you can do that?"

Harry whimpered, honestly not sure, but he also knew that Maximilian wouldn't be insisting on this if it wasn't important. And if Maximilian was there with him, he wouldn't be so scared. He'd know it wasn't real anymore. That they were just memories. They couldn't hurt him anymore if he didn't let them.

Mutely, Harry nodded his head and quickly found himself being guided further into the room. Maximilian waved his hand and one of the bookcases swiveled open as if it were on a hinge, revealing a door behind it which opened inward. He guided Harry through it and it closed behind them. On the other side was apparently the professor's quarters. It was fairly simple – similar to what one would expect from a one bedroom flat. A large sitting room with an attached small kitchen area separated by a small low counter. The sitting room was simply furnished with the sort of furniture you'd find in the dorms; squashy armchairs, sofas, and tables done in dark old woods. The colors were mostly based around a desaturated blueish color with details in silver threads and accents.

Harry's mind lingered aimlessly on the room as he was guided to a sofa, placed into the corner facing inward while Maximilian mirrored his position and placed several pillows around Harry to prop him up.

"I'm going to enter your mind and pull you into your mindscape. Alright?" Maximilian was asking him when Harry's mind snapped back to the present.

"Huh?"

"We need to keep working on this, Harry," Maximilian said gently but firmly. "This has had a dramatic effect on your psyche and need to deal with it quickly and press onward. The only way to do that is to return to your mindscape and keep working. I want to try and get as far as possible before morning so that you can function again. Can you try, for me, Harry?"

Harry swallowed hollowly but nodded his head.

"Good," Maximilian said with a warm, reassuring smile. He pulled out his wand and before Harry could even feel his nerves swelling up in him, his professor was muttering the spell _'Legilimens'_ and Harry felt the man's presence and the inward tug to enter his own mind.

– – –

Harry woke to warm sunlight on his face and an even warmer body beneath and beside him. He felt... calm. Peaceful. He let his eyes, which had only barely opened a crack, fall back closed and buried his face further into his warm, steadily moving pillow. The_ thwump, thwump, thwump_, sound of a steadily beating heart was soothing to his system for several moments before the sheer unusual nature of it seemed to click in his mind and his eyes flew open.

His pillow, it turned out, was Maximilian's chest, which part of his mind had already worked out, while the rest of it came to a stuttering halt in shock as it finally caught up to speed. A gentle chuckle drew his gaze upward and he found the elder wizard smiling down at him fondly. An arm beneath his side shifted and a moment later Harry felt the other man's hand carding its way through his hair. Harry's eyes fell back shut and he hummed in pleasure at the gentle thrumming tingle that intensified only slightly at this new contact.

His whole body felt like a puddle of warm pudding, now that he thought about it. Although that was probably a weird thing to feel like, his mind rationalized a moment later. But he did feel quite brilliant. Last night's misery was a quickly fading memory now that the events that had caused him such turmoil were neatly packed away and sorted in his mind. He didn't feel so weirdly detached from his feelings, as he had the evening prior, but he didn't feel haunted by them either.

"You'll need to leave soon," Maximilian's soft voice broke the silence a moment later. "Your room mates are no doubt waking up and wondering where you are. You can't be missing for breakfast."

Harry's face fell slightly at the reminder that the rest of the world still existed and he couldn't simply hide out here in the other man's arms forever, like a very big part of him wanted. Maximilian had taken wonderful care of him last night. They'd spent almost the whole time in Harry's mind, although the time spent there felt weirdly real, as if his mental library were a real place and any touch, scent, or sight experienced there was just as real as anywhere else.

Unfortunately it also meant that any memories relived there also felt quite real. And time seemed to move so strangely there. He could relive a lengthy memory in the blink of an eye and yet also feel as if he'd relived the entire thing, minute for minute. But when the memory was over, another part of him felt like it had only been the briefest of moments. It was very confusing and left him feeling disoriented for most of the night. Maximilian had made things a lot easier though, and put things into perspective, keeping Harry centered and focused on finishing the task.

That night they'd gotten through the significant memories of most of Harry's childhood and up to his early introduction to Hogwarts, which Maximilian said was probably enough for now and Harry could do the rest at his leisure. There were bits of his mind that were still a disorganized mess, while other parts were shockingly tidy – Harry felt Maximilian's influence strongly here, but he was grateful for it too.

Maximilian had also helped guide him towards creating various groupings of memories – things that were safe, common every-day mindless mental chatter, thoughts and memories, that Harry could bring out quickly, should he ever feel an intrusion. As well as groupings of things that Harry was so embarrassed, mortified, and horrified by that he didn't want anyone else to ever see them – _ever_ – and could keep them hidden and safe from any intrusion.

It had been hard to let Maximilian see those memories. Harry had fought several times, insisting that he do it later, or when he was alone. Maximilian had, of course, pointed out that those were the memories that Harry would be in the most need of some comfort and company and Harry would _never_ deal with them, if he just kept putting it off. Maximilian had said that suppressing such memories would only cause him grief in the end, and seemed to insinuate that he knew from personal experience that simply burying and locking up such memories and emotions, rather than facing them and acknowledging them as a part of what made him who he is, would do far more harm than good. Harry had wanted to inquire further – always hungry for details about Maximilian, but it didn't seem appropriate, nor did they seem to have the time to spare, so Harry had relented.

When they were done going over the worst of Harry's memories, Harry had felt lighter than he'd felt in years. Maximilian, in contrast, looked to be a tightly sealed pressure cooker, on the brink of explosion. Harry had been considerably wary upon picking up on the elder wizard's tightly bound fury. The man was trying to control his features, and doing an admirable job of hiding just how angry he was, but Harry could _feel_ the other man's emotions to some extent, and it was shocking how tremendous the strength of the man's fury was on Harry's behalf.

Harry had hesitantly asked if he'd done something wrong, which had seemed to snap Maximilian out of some of his ire, and the man had quickly suppressed some of the intensity. He assured Harry that he had done _nothing_ wrong and that he was not angry with him at all, but rather, he was furious with the disgusting maggots that had the audacity to treat a wizarding child in such a way, and with _Dumbledore_ who had placed Harry there and left him to their disgusting whims without so much as checking on him.

Harry had turned grim and nodded silently before brushing the whole thing behind him and moving onto a less violent and miserable set of memories.

One thing that Harry had enjoyed from their adventures in digging through his ancient mental history were a few glorious snippets of memories of his parents. They were blurry around the edges and nothing that anyone said really stood out as clear, but he could remember their faces; smiling down at him; laughing with him. Snippets here and there. Not much, but they were more than he'd ever really had before, and he found himself treasuring them greatly. He liked the idea that he could relive them whenever he wanted by just entering his mindscape. It was so much more intense and accurate than just remembering the scene from the 'outside'.

It was really like having a pensieve in his own mind.

Maximilian had been very quire during those memories; seeming to sink into the background. Harry figured that the elder wizard just wanted to give him space to bask in the limited connection Harry had with his now-dead parents.

Harry couldn't quite pinpoint at what point the previous night he'd actually 'fallen asleep'. He'd sort of been asleep the whole time, depending on how you looked at it. He felt physically rested, now that it was morning, but his mind was still rather exhausted.

Maximilian finally maneuvered Harry off his chest and the two stood and stretched their stiff bodies after spending the night sleeping awkwardly on a couch. Harry felt somewhat bereft to suddenly lose the physical contact with the other man, and yet some other part of him could almost still feel the other man in his head. Like there was some little piece of him left behind like an imprint of the man's presence. Or something. Harry really wasn't sure what to make of the sensation, if he were honest.

Maximilian made his way into his bedroom and Harry hesitated, unsure if he should follow or not. He walked awkwardly to the open door but couldn't quite permit himself any further than that. He was greeted with the lovely sight of Maximilian's bare back and backside as the man was bending over and pulling on a pair of fresh trousers. Harry felt himself flush as a wave of desire swept through him. It took quite a bit of self control, but mostly just a hefty sum of insecurity and hesitation, that kept him from walking forward and grabbing the man.

Despite their two rather heated snogging sessions, Harry felt entirely unsure of exactly what he was allowed to do with the other man, and he certainly didn't feel like he could initiate anything. The two previous times Harry felt more like he'd been a bit out of his head – sort of drunk, he supposed – so his inhibitions had dropped down to nothing. Without that, he simply didn't have the guts to act on his teenaged body's desires.

Maximilian took the temptation away quickly as he finished pulling up his trousers and slipped on a black button-down shirt that his long agile fingers simply slid up the center, magically buttoning it shut. Another gesture into the wardrobe produced a black fitted, sleeveless over-robe that he pulled on and buttoned up the center with the same bit of wandless magic.

"How come I don't see anyone else doing stuff like that?" Harry asked, feeling transfixed by it.

"Hmm?" Maximilian asked, looking up at Harry with a questioning look.

"The button thing – you do all this wandless magic..."

"Ah, well we've already covered that to some extent. I was performing wandless magic when I was quite young – long before I got to Hogwarts and was surrounded by other wizarding children who had all been taught from birth that performing magic without a wand was impossible. In a way I instinctively worked out the same sort of faerie magic that you and I have been covering over the previous few weeks. I had no teacher, but after some accidental magic, I focused on working out how to do it on purpose and practiced it quite a bit. I never lost the skill, even while in school, so it comes naturally to me still. In contrast, most wizarding children are raised to believe that wandless magic is basically impossible, and even if it weren't, they aren't legally allowed to perform magic outside of school, until they reach the age of majority."

"I wish I would have figured out wandless magic as a kid," Harry said wistfully. "I was terrified of my accidental magic."

"You're _uncle_," Maximilian said, practically spitting out the word, "conditioned you to avoid it like the plague. Even the slightest indication that you'd used any magic seems to have instantly resulted in the worst of your punishments. It's no wonder you've had trouble connecting with your magic in classes since coming to Hogwarts. You spent so many years in your youth suppressing it for fear of punishment."

Harry flushed slightly in embarrassment at the reminder that Maximilian had seen him at his weakest. That Maximilian now _knew_ the way Harry had been treated – the way he'd been raised. It was mortifying, really.

Maximilian finished dressing and walked over to Harry placing a hand on each shoulder and sending a reassuring warmth through his whole body and relaxing him instantly. "But now I know more about the problem and know better how to help you move past the damage he caused. You have so much power inside you. A tremendous well of it – I could feel it more clearly last night than ever before, spending so much time with you in your mind. I've always known that you're an above-average wizard in power, and wondered why you had trouble performing in classes and even our study sessions. Now I know and now I can help you better. We will not allow anything that disgusting maggot did to permanently hinder you any longer."

Harry blinked in surprise, pulling himself somewhat out of the fog of easy contentment that permeated him still, as Maximilian had still not removed his hands. "What do you mean?" he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"We will begin working on more exercises, focused on teaching you to connect with your core better – to become one with it. It goes hand-in-hand with the faerie magic and the wandless exercises we were already beginning to touch upon, but we will focus more on laying a stronger foundation and correcting the damage that has been caused by your subconscious psyche trying to protect you from the maggot's wrath. I think it will help you a lot in the long run, with your practical class results as well, so I think we should prioritize these lessons for our coming time after classes and such."

"Oh... okay," Harry said, uncertainly, but willing to go along with it if Maximilian said it was important.

"Now, we need to get you dressed," Maximilian with a smirk and Harry looked down at himself and flushed slightly at the reminder that he was wearing nothing but an over-robe and his boxers.

Maximilian waved his hand and a pair of trousers and a simple white button-down flew into his hand.

"Put them on and then I'll use a charm to adjust the fit," he instructed simply as he took a step back to give Harry some space.

Harry hesitated a moment before stepping further into the bedroom and then flushed as he pushed the robe over his shoulders, letting it fall onto the floor and then quickly shuffling into the pants and then pulling the shirt over his shoulders. He had to hold the pants up with one hand as they wanted to slip right down over his hips. He struggled with the buttons for a moment before Maximilian reached forward and dragged two fingers up the center of Harry's chest, sending a spark of electricity up his spine, while also magically buttoning the shirt.

Maximilian smirked at him and then summoned his wand to him from where it sat on an end table across the room. A few wordless flicks and the over-loose clothes shrunk to a perfect fit – the trousers, in fact, were probably the best-fitting pair of pants he'd ever worn.

Harry grinned up at the man through his fringe and thanked him.

The two left the bedroom, said a few parting words and Harry finally slipped out with his invisibility cloak over his head and shoulders.

He still had it on when he slipped into the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione was down there with a book on her lap, and her nose in said book. There weren't very many others loitering in the common room though – few Gryffindors were apt to getting up early, and those who did, tended to go straight to the Great Hall for early breakfast.

Harry was glad that she seemed so embroiled in whatever she was reading that she didn't look up at the sound of the portrait opening. Harry quickly and quietly slipped around the room and up the stairs. He took the cloak off before entering the dorm room, and was grateful that Ron still seemed to be asleep. Seamus and Neville's beds were empty, but neither were in the room either, so Harry figured they were probably in the showers.

All-in-all, Harry seemed to have lucked out and no one took notice of his having disappeared for most the night. The rest of the day went without anything all that noteworthy happening. Harry felt pretty much back to normal again, and even got indignantly irritated when Malfoy and his goons taunted an obviously nervous Ron about the upcoming Quidditch game, in the halls between classes.

The remainder of the week went just as simply, which was good because Harry didn't think he could take anything else unexpected happening at this point. He had enough on his plate with handling Ron and his ever-intensifying nerves. Harry had maintained the exact same schedule of spending time with with Maximilian as he had before _everything had changed_, so nothing seemed unusual to his friends.

Of course it wasn't just political debates, magical history, faerie magic, and defense discussions that happened these last few days, as it had been during the month or so prior to this. Maximilian covered the new meditations for connecting with his core, first – how to truly feel it, _embrace it_, and surrounding himself with it until you knew it better than anything else. He wanted Harry to be tapping into his magical core at all times – not just when he had time to perform the meditative exercises. The exercises were focused and precise, but he also taught Harry a couple focus-light background activities to keep him busy, constantly interacting with his core.

Harry mentally compared it to a person constantly twiddling with a lock of hair. Only, instead of hair, it was a strand of Harry's own inner-magics. Maximilian had said it was a habit that Harry should try to establish so that, after a while, he'd be doing it even without realizing it. The more often he did it, the more natural it would become for him to interact directly with his personal magic. As he currently stood with the conditioning he'd grown up with all his life, he still had trouble interacting directly with it at all. That was what they had to counteract.

They had also spent a small bit of their time together each afternoon those last few days reviewing Harry's progress with sorting his mindscape. There was still a lot of work to do to truly get it organized, but a very solid foundation had been laid that night they had spent together (a thought that still made Harry blush and grin) so Harry had time to slowly deal with the rest of the work at his leisure. This was a process that he spent about an hour each night working on, once going to bed.

Unfortunately, with all of this to keep them busy, there hadn't really been any new occurrences of that gloriously enjoyable snogging that they'd engaged in the previous weekend. It appeared that Maximilian was practicing restraint or something, and he wanted Harry to practice the aspect of his new Occlumency skills that would protect his mind from being overly effected by outside influence, so that Harry didn't turn into a wanton pile of goo every time they touched.

Maximilian had been pleased and impressed with the fact that Harry seemed to be catching on to this particular aspect of Occlumency with great aptitude. Harry was less thrilled, simply because t had been his total lack of inhibitions that had allowed him to egg the elder wizard on, to the point of the two of them getting intimate. Now that he wasn't loosing his senses every time they touched, his inhibitions, insecurity and anxiety were rearing their unwelcome heads and holding him back from initiating anything more intimate than some tentative touches. Looking back he felt an incredulous sort of awe at his previous actions, mixed with an embarrassed sense of horror.

He couldn't even imagine doing that now, and that thought was rather annoying, in all honesty. He almost wished he could just let his barriers down and slip into that mindless bliss from before Maximilian had 'installed' the foundation of Harry's new mindscape, but now that it was in place, he couldn't seem to remember how to ignore the foreign influence anymore. It was just _too obvious_. He couldn't _not notice it, _and even if he wanted to let it in and do what it had done before, he couldn't seem to manage to actually do it.

With all of the distractions going on and drawing in his focus that week, he hadn't really had much time to stress or worry about the Quidditch game. Outside of worrying about (or being annoyed by) Ron's worrying, Harry hadn't had the time to experience any of his own performance anxiety. He'd gone to the practices that Angelina had scheduled, and felt he was in as good a form as he could be – in fact, he was probably in better shape than most of his team mates – with the exception of the Twins – because of all the jogging and calisthenics he'd been doing the last six weeks.

He'd been sharpening his Quidditch skills as often as he could manage – and while he probably could have been joining Ron a bit more often in his free time to sharpen them _even more, _Harry hadn't really _had_ free time to spare. Still – he felt confident in his preparation. He just had to stay focused on his search for the snitch, and make sure he beat Malfoy to it.

–


	12. Chapter 12

–

Friday evening arrived before he even knew what had happened and Harry found himself walking towards the locker rooms, clutching his Firebolt in one hand and glancing furtively over at Ron who was pale and looked about ready to pass out or get sick all over the ground. The twins were walking right in front of them and the four entered the Gryffindor men's half of the locker room and quickly got changed and ready. Ron didn't say a word the whole time, even when Fred and George, and even Harry, said various things to draw him out – attempting vainly to distract the teen from his nerves.

The four Gryffindors then joined the girls just out front of the locker rooms and Angelina gave her pep talk. She wasn't quite as _intense_ as Oliver had been, but that really only meant she wasn't nearly as scary. Olly could get a bit terrifying at times, if Harry were being honest with himself. Angelina was a good balance of encouraging and determined and Harry grinned in approval when she concluded her talk.

He looked over and his grin fell slightly as he saw that Ron still looked about ready to pass out. He heaved a sigh, tried to give one last word of encouragement and followed along with the rest of the team out to the pitch.

The game quickly got underway once both teams were on the pitch and Harry focused on his search for the snitch, occasionally letting his awareness slip to the rest of the field to check on the score and to glare in annoyance at the Slytherin stands where a significant block of students had taken up the task of yelling out catcalls and various insults to Ron. Obviously Malfoy and his teammates had pegged Ron and his nerves as Gryffindor's largest weakness and were trying to exploit it to their fullest.

Judging by the ever rising score on the Slytherin side, their taunts were unfortunately having an effect and Harry redoubled his efforts to find the snitch.

A cheer from the Gryffindor side caught Harry's attention and he glanced over to see a rather triumphant looking Ron holding the Quaffle before tossing it back out towards Katie Bell and back into play. Harry turned his attention back to his search, but he was relieved that Ron had managed to block a shot. The only thing that held him back was his nerves and a little success was all he needed to start performing better.

Malfoy's focus seemed split between taunting Ron and his search for the snitch, so Harry considered it paramount that he remain more focused on his own task. The score kept changing with the Slytherin's maintaining at least a ten or twenty point lead, but never much more than that.

There were a couple times when Harry caught he caught sight of a glint of gold the the little ball seemed determined to evade his sight. Suddenly Malfoy took a dive off towards the Hufflepuff stands and Harry instantly turned in chase, even though he hadn't yet seen anything and knew it could be a feint.

Unfortunately, it wasn't. Harry saw the snitch zig-zagging its way several meters ahead of Malfoy and pushed at his broom to try and catch up. He and Malfoy engaged in quite a lengthy chase at that point – swooping in and out of the goal posts, all the way around the pitch – up and down. That snitch was absolutely dedicated to alluding them, and after the two of them nearly collided with each other at one point, the ball did just that. It vanished from sight and Malfoy spent a good two minutes cussing Harry out.

Harry heaved a deep breath – relieved that Malfoy hadn't gotten the snitch, but annoyed that it had now disappeared again. He looked back up at the score and felt as if a huge heavy stone had just fallen to the base of his gut. Slytherin was in the lead by 130 points. Ron looked absolutely _miserable_ – literally _green_, and Harry nearly moaned out loud with frustration.

He _had_ to find that ruddy snitch, and _fast_. If Slytherin made just three more goals, it wouldn't matter if Harry caught the snitch or not – Slytherin would still win.

Slytherin made two more goals, and Gryffindor three, before Harry finally spotted the snitch again. It was hovering near the ground by the Ravenclaw stands and Malfoy had not yet noticed it!

Harry began to fly in that direction trying to make it look like he was still just searching, and not that he'd already spotted anything. Malfoy was over by the Gryffindor goals, and seemed intent in his own search. Harry was half way across the pitch – and definitely the closer of the two of them, when a section of the Slytherin stands apparently realized what Harry was doing and where he was heading. They'd spotted the snitch, and their calls drew in Malfoy's attention. The second that it was clear Malfoy was now aware of the snitch's almost stationary position over by the Ravenclaw stands, Harry took off like a bullet. Malfoy did much the same, but Harry had a lead on him by half a pitch's length.

The snitch took off too, and Harry had to start a rather nerve wracking chase – especially when the damned golden ball doubled back in Malfoy's direction, requiring Harry to do a sharp hair-pin turn and head for a collision course with Malfoy.

It was like some crazed game of chicken, with the two of them heading right for each other. Harry stretched his hand out, mere inches from the speeding golden ball while Malfoy flattened himself to his broom trying to catch up to them and get the ball first.

Just when Harry was almost sure that he and Malfoy would just collide, a bludger came out of nowhere and clipped the end of Malfoy's broom, sending him spiraling out of control for a minute, just as Harry's hand clasped around the snitch, bringing the end to the game.

It would turn out later that Fred had been the one to send the bludger Malfoy's way, and Harry would also later hear that Malfoy would spend quite a bit of time chewing out Crabbe and Goyle for their utter failure at protecting him from the evil ginger twins.

But none of that really mattered right now because right now Harry was holding the snitch into the air, triumphantly, and the crowd was roaring.

As Harry guided his broom back down towards the center of the pitch where the rest of his teammates were gathering, his eyes traveled over to the teacher's box and found Professor Monroe looking right at him, grinning and clapping along with most of the others there. Not Snape, of course – he was looking sour-faced as ever, but that really only made Harry feel smug. Harry grinned back widely at Maximilian before turning back and meeting up with his team mates.

The party in the Gryffindor common room waged on into the wee hours of the night. Harry had called it a night shortly before midnight – he _did_ have some rather important things going on the next morning, after all – and managed to slip into bed shortly thereafter. The exhaustion from the game and the party were fortunately enough to knock him out, despite the nerves threatening to build in his chest at the thought that tomorrow he'd be hearing the prophecy that had basically doomed him to a miserable childhood as an orphan. But no matter the nerves, this was something he _had_ to do. He had to _know_.

–

Harry woke early the next morning, just before six o'clock, and slipped from the boys dorm after quietly going through his morning routine. He rather doubted that any of his dorm mates would be up any earlier than ten, and Ron especially, was likely to have a nice long lie in until noon. Just the same, Harry still closed his hangings before leaving.

He made his way through the deserted halls and knocked gently on Maximilian's office door. A moment later it was pulled open to reveal the man that had single-handedly turned Harry's world on it's head. Despite the disruption, Harry couldn't be more thankful of that fact. He quickly entered the office with the door being closed quietly behind him.

Harry turned to face the elder wizard and was caught off guard as Maximilian stepped right up to him, leaned his head down, and pressed his lips gently against Harry's lips. Harry was stunned for nearly half a second, as this was the first bit of intimate contact they'd shared in several days, before he felt himself melting into the contact and leaning in to press his lips more firmly against the other's.

Too soon for Harry, Maximilian had pulled back and smiled down at him. "Are you ready for this?" he asked gently.

Harry remembered what it was he was going to be doing – and _seeing_ – today, and his nerves surged forth again, but less intense than before as he felt a low pleasant hum still lingering from the kiss.

"Er, yeah," Harry said nervously and nodded.

"I've already made arrangements with Mr. Jennings office. He'll be expecting the two of us to floo into his office and said he'd be the only one there at this hour, so there's no chance of you being seen outside of the school by anyone who might compromise your activities."

"Oh, good," Harry said, still feeling a bit off kilter by what he was going to be doing today. It was one thing to sneak out into Hogsmeade under his cloak during an actual Hogsmeade weekend, but this would be sneaking out of to go to _London_. And not just London, but the Ministry building.

"From Jennings' office you'll be flooing into the private office of one of the Unspeakables at the Ministry. Being a Saturday and as early as it is, few people will be in the Ministry, but it's still safer to keep your travel through the open building as limited as possible. There are no public floos that go directly into the Department of Mysteries, but Jennings tells me that the floo you'll be flooing into is just down the hall from the entrance," Maximilian went on explaining, and turned to lead Harry through the office towards the large hearth.

They came to a stop in front of the Floo and Harry found his eyes trained on the lowly burning yellow-orange flames and felt his heart beat racing slightly in his chest. He wasn't sure what he was so nervous and apprehensive about. He supposed that, more than anything, he was afraid of what the Prophecy would say. His head was filled with fears of this or that – and he knew it was probably the 'unknown' that was scaring him the most right now and the only way to get over that was to find out what the thing actually said.

"Well, shall we?" Maximilian asked gently, as he tossed a handful of floo powder into the fire and turning the flames green. He looked at Harry and offered his hand out, questioningly.

Harry swallowed, looked back up at the older wizard and nodded his head.

He put his hand in Maximilian's outstretched one and a moment later found himself pulled in and completely wrapped up in the elder wizard's arms. A whoosh of breath escaped Harry in a sigh as he felt his body relax instantly. He was better at preventing their contact from making him totally incoherent, but the man's touch still effected him.

"Don't say anything, just let me call out the destination," Maximilian said as he guided them to stand in the large hearth. The magical green flames did nothing as they stood in them and Harry opted to close his eyes and succumb to his instincts and just buried his face in the other man's chest while wrapping his arms tightly around Maximilian's waist.

He registered on some level, that Maximilian was calling out the destination and felt the world around him being to spin dizzily, but mostly Harry was just to wrapped up in the comforting warmth of the other man's arms, that he was hardly aware of it at all. He felt the spinning stop and the two where jostled slightly, but he remained standing and still wrapped securely in the other man's arms.

A slight wave of disappointment flitted through his mind as he felt Maximilian release his grip from around Harry and pull back. Harry sighed and stepped back, opening his eyes and looking around the office he now found himself standing in. It was basically what he would expect from the office of a well-to-do solicitor – well, it would be if said solicitor was from the Victorian era.

Harry's eyes fell upon a very large mahogany desk with ornate carvings all along it's front, and then on the familiar man sitting behind it. Mr. Jennings smiled up at him and wasted little time in standing up and coming over to greet them.

Harry wasn't too surprised when it became obvious that Mr. Jennings knew Maximilian. Max _had_ told Harry that they'd been in touch and worked out the meeting, and looking back, it was Maximilian who had first suggested Mr. Jennings and his firm, to Harry.

"Alright Harry," Mr. Jennings said, turning his full focus on Harry, "we'll be leaving here very soon – we're on a tight schedule – and we've got a bit to cover before we leave. First we'll be flooing into the office of one of my clients, who happens to be an Unspeakable that works in the Department of Mysteries. He's doing you a considerable favor by making sure that this visit is held as covertly as possible. Just the same, it is still logged within the Department of Mysteries' records. Fortunately, very few people outside of the Department have any oversight or review rights to those records. It is highly unlikely that anyone undesirable will learn of your visit to the Department, today."

Harry nodded, feeling mildly reassured.

"Once we are inside the Department of Mysteries, _don't touch anything _until you are explicitly told to. The prophecy orbs themselves are spelled so that they can only be removed and handled by the people designated to be the object of said prophecy, and by the lead of the prophetic studies division. He will be bringing the orb directly into a viewing room but you will be expected to handle it to prove that you are, in fact, the subject of the prophecy. _Touch nothing else_."

"Alright, I got it," Harry said, feeling a bit overwhelmed and nodding his head emphatically.

Jennings gave Harry a firm nod and turned back to Maximilian. "He needs to travel back through the floo with you in order to avoid any potential detection, correct?"

"That's right," Maximilian confirmed.

"Okay, so when we're finished, I'll floo him back here to my office and you and he can go back to Hogwarts together through my floo."

"Sounds like a plan. I've brought a book to keep myself busy."

Harry turned to Maximilian suddenly feeling a sense of dread and mild fear. "Wait, you're not coming with?"

"Coming with? I hadn't honestly considered it. That's a tremendous amount of trust to place in my hands, Harry," Maximilian replied, looking somewhat surprised. "And you'll only be allowed to bring one person with you into the viewing room. I assumed that if you brought anyone, you'd want to take Mr. Jennings."

Now it was Jennings who raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, I'd rather not. I'm fine with you relaying certain pertinent details to me, Harry, if you think they'll be important to my duties in representing you and your interests, but I really would rather not know explicitly what any prophecy from the Department of Mysteries says. _This_ one, especially. There are people out there who very much want to know what this prophecy says and I would worry about what sort of desperate measures they might go to for those goals."

"Oh..." Harry said, feeling rather queasy and ill at the prospect of doing this alone, and also quite guilty for having wanted to do something that could put either Mr. Jennings or Maximilian in danger. He turned his eyes back on Maximilian, feeling weak for feeling so needy. "So... you'll be staying here, then?" he asked weakly.

Maximilian held his gaze for several long moments before he smiled and shook his head. "Not if you need me, Harry. I'll come. I'll even go into the viewing room with you, if that's what you want. But _only_ if it's what you want."

Harry felt his hope surge but he held it back hesitantly. "But – what about what Mr. Jennings said? About people wanting to know what this prophecy says? What if someone comes after you to try and get that information?" Harry's voice raised slightly with tightly bound panic at the thought.

"I'll be fine," Maximilian said in a calmly reassuring tone and reached out to place his hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyelids fluttered for a moment, but he held them open He felt his shoulders relax as the tension melted out of his muscles at Max's touch.

He sighed and nodded before looking back up at the older wizard through his eyelashes. "Then... then I'd like it if you could come," Harry said in a quiet voice.

Maximilian smiled and nodded before turning back to Jennings. "Well, then I guess that's settled. Since we'll be together, we can leave from the Department, directly to my floo, when we're done. That way we won't have to use your floo as a stop-over."

"Okay. Well, then gentlemen, I believe we have an appointment to get to. Shall we?"

They were told the destination's floo address and Mr. Jennings went through first; Harry second, and Maximilian last. Harry found himself in a very cluttered but spacious office that seemed to be overwhelmed mostly by towers of folders, parchments, and papers, stacked precariously about the room and clearly held upright solely through magic. There were also lots of boxes, each labeled with numbers and letters that didn't seem to mean much of anything to Harry, and accented by the occasional stack of books.

A man was standing beside a large cluttered desk, obviously having been waiting for them. He was wearing dark navy-blue robes with tight button-up sleeves along his forearms that flowered loosely just below his elbows, that reminded Harry of the sorts of sleeves that Snape's robes always had to prevent his clothing getting into his potions work. The hood on the robes was up and cast a shadow over his face that Harry realized seemed to be magically obscuring the man's face, even though the lighting in the room shouldn't cast such a dark shadow there.

"Welcome to the Ministry, Mr. Potter, Mr. Jennings," he said, nodding his head at each and then seeming to glance questioningly at Maximilian.

"Er, this is my Defense professor, from Hogwarts. Professor Monroe." Harry said, quickly. "I asked him to come with me. Er... is it alright if he comes with me into the viewing room?"

The man seemed to scrutinize Maximilian for a moment before turning his obscured gaze back onto Harry. "It is _your_ prophecy. It is your choice who can and cannot bare it witness. If you wish to allow him to view it, it is your prerogative."

Harry couldn't help but smile in relief. "Yes, that's what I want," he said with a nod.

The unspeakable nodded and turned his focus back on Maximilian. "Do not touch the prophecy orbs," he said simply before turning his gaze to Mr. Jennings. "Potter can only have one guest in the viewing chamber. Do you have any other reason for being here?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure that Mr. Potter was greeted properly. If my presence is no longer needed as an escort, it is probably best if I not linger in the Ministry," Jennings replied.

"Yes. It is best. You may use my floo to leave."

Jennings nodded and turned his gaze back on Harry. "Will you be fine from here on out?"

Harry glanced over at Maximilian before looking back at his solicitor and nodding. "I'll be fine."

"Okay, good. I leave him in your care, then," he said the last bit to Maximilian who nodded earnestly.

Jennings then turned back to the large hearth, called out the address to his office and departed in a flash of green flames.

"I believe we are all set then?" the Unspeakable stated more than asked and then walked around his desk and opened the door, clearly not waiting for any sort of reply. "Come along. Your time here is limited."

The Unspeakable guided them down a long, windowless and featureless hallway and Harry quickly spotted a familiar black door at the end of it. They were led inside in silence and then the man motioned for them to come to a stop in the circular shaped room. Harry looked around for the briefest moment – just long enough to see that it was a large circular room with a number of identical, unmarked doors, around the outside, evenly spaced – when suddenly the outer wall began to spin rather frantically, leaving Harry feeling terribly dizzy and disoriented.

Then it stopped.

Harry made to open his mouth and ask what all that was about, but the Unspeakable was already on the move again, striding confidently over to one of the doors and pulling it open.

Beyond was a long, gray, windowless hallway lined with doors – all unmarked – along each side. They walked down the hall towards the end before the Unspeakable stopped at one of the doors and pulled it open. He motioned Harry and Maximilian inside and then followed behind them.

The room was much like the hall they'd come from – gray walls, plain slate floor, no windows. It's only feature was a large circular table in the center of the room with two charms along one side.

"Sit," the Unspeakable said shortly. Harry thought the man rather rude, but tried to ignore it and went over to sit in one of the chairs; Maximilian by his side the whole time. "The lead of the Lead of the Prophetic Studies Division will be by shortly – you will have to wait for him, he's a very busy man and is taking time out of his work schedule to assist you in this. He's the only one who can remove the prophecies from their placement in the hall besides the subjects of the prophecies, themselves."

"I'm curious why you don't just have Harry go in and remove the prophecy, then?" Maximilian asked lightly, eyeing the man with some level of curious scrutiny.

The man eyed Maximilian back for several long seconds. "The Hall of Prophecy is a vast space filled with many sensitive objects of considerable import. We would also have to pass through one of two other halls in order to get that far, and both of _those_ rooms also contain many important, _dangerous,_ and irreplaceable objects. Mr. Potter has been cleared to see any prophecy pertaining to him, personally, but he has not been cleared to see any other part of the Department. And neither have _you_."

"Perfectly understandable," Maximilian said with a simple, accepting nod of his head.

The Unspeakable gave a curt jerk of his head before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Harry heaved a sigh several seconds later and took a moment to examine the room again. There was a circular object in the center of the table. Like a low, wide bowl that sat on a short pedestal. In the center of the bowl was a raised bit, almost like a cup with a wide lip. There were runes of some sort carved all around the outside and Harry was reminded vaguely of Dumbledore's pensive, only obviously quite different.

The two remained in silence for quite some time after that, as they waited. Maximilian did reach over after only a couple minutes and begin rubbing soothing circles into Harry's shoulders and back, drastically reducing the tension Harry felt waring away at his nerves.

After what seemed like a ridiculously long time considering they'd been told that their time here was supposedly _limited_, the door clicked and slowly swung open. Harry felt his body tense and his eyes trained on the space as a heavily cloaked figure with a magically obscured face walked in with a black lacquered chest floating in the air in front of him.

The box floated across the room and settled onto the end of the round table opposite where Harry and Maximilian were sitting. The wizard followed behind it, closing the door behind him and taking a seat in the one remaining chair around the table. He opened the box and turned it around so that it faced Harry and Maximilian's side of the table.

Harry realized he'd been holding his breath ever since the man had entered the room, and took a breath as he frowned across at the lacquered box. Inside were two opalescent orbs of spun glass that seemed to be filled with swirling mist. Each orb had a tag attached to them and Harry leaned forward and squinted to try and read the small writing on them.

"You must remove the prophecy from the box and place it in the Prospiceres," the man said, speaking for the first time and causing Harry to flinch with the sudden and unexpected interruption to the heavy silence that had filled the room.

Harry stood jerkily, looking at the man questioningly for a moment before he got a nod of affirmation. Harry moved the rest of the way and leaned across the table towards the box. His hand hesitated mid-air as he wasn't sure which of the two orbs he was supposed to grab. Was this some sort of test? Wasn't something horrible supposed to happen if you touched one of these orbs that wasn't about you?

"This one," the man said pointing at the one on the left. Harry blinked, still confused and wondering why the man had brought two of these orbs at all, but shook his head deciding it wasn't important at the moment and instead focused on the prophecy orb to the left-side of the box.

He could read the tag now that he was closer, although he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

_S. P. T to A. P. W. B. D_

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Harry Potter_

"Uh, what exactly does the tag mean?" Harry asked as his hand hovered above the box.

"The first line holds the initials are of the Seer who made the prophecy and the individual who witnessed the telling of the prophecy," the man said and Harry noted that his voice was rather low and hoarse, as if he didn't speak aloud all that often. His mind pulled away from this thought rather quickly though when it registered instead who the second set of initials obviously belonged to.

"So Dumbledore really did witness it," Harry muttered to himself somewhat bitterly. Finally he huffed out a breath of air and just grabbed the glowing ball. He paused, holding it mid-air and waiting to see if anything awful was about to happen. When nothing did, he sighed and placed the orb in the center of the rune-etched bowl.

"Sit," the Unspeakable said impatiently and Harry quickly shifted back to his seat, feeling his nerves bubbling away in his gut, quite frantically now.

The Unspeakable waited another moment but then reached out with his wand in hand and tapped it on the edge of the bowl. The ball glowed brighter and seemed to pulse for a few seconds before a cone of light shot up out of the orb and bowl projecting a three-dimensional image into the air above the circular table.

Harry nearly choked when he recognized the face of his hack divination professor, Trelawney, staring owlishly into the empty space before her. She was clearly younger, but hadn't really changed much over the years as far as Harry could see.

Her eyes took on a vacant, unfocused look and her head lulled slightly to the side before she suddenly began to speak in a low almost other-worldly voice. It sent a chill down Harry's spine, as he'd heard that voice coming from his divination professor, once before. The night at the end of third year, she had spoken in that voice when she had foretold that Pettigrew would escape and return to Voldemort.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." _she spoke and Harry felt his heart racing in his chest.

"_And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but it will be a gift the Dark Lord knows of, naught... and one will be destroyed by the hand of the other for neither can live while the other only survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_

Her head jerked and dipped before coming back up and she blinked in apparent disorientation. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but before anything came out the image faded away into little more than mist and the orb dimmed back down to a gentle glow.

Harry felt as if he were about to hyperventilate. His mind was far too overwhelmed and he realized he wasn't even sure what exactly had been said. His mind had just latched onto bits and pieces that stuck out and the rest was instantly dissolved into a blur.

"I – wait, _what?_ I – can I hear it again? I didn't really catch it all," Harry asked apologetically and trying to quell the panic swelling in his chest like a building tsunami.

"I can recite it, Harry," Maximilian said and Harry glanced over at him with relieved gratitude on his face. It blanked a moment later to be replaced with confusion as Harry took in Maximilian's expression. He'd never seen the man's pale blue eyes look so wide and elated. It was as if they were alight with an almost manic delight and his whole face was swept up in the tightly bound emotion.

"Max...?" Harry began hesitantly, not even sure what he meant to say.

"It began 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches.' When was the prophecy foretold, exactly?" he said, then asking the Unspeakable.

The man waved his wand over the orb and then seemed to read off something from above the orb that only he could see. "January of 1980," he replied in a bored monotone.

Maximilian nodded and the corner of his lips twitched – it almost seemed as if he were attempting to hold back some sort of manic glee that was too powerful to be bound. Harry didn't know what to make of it.

"Yes, that sounds right. The next part went 'Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.' That denoted who the parents of the prophesied vanquisher were – that they were people who had defied the Dark Lord on three different occasions. Then it said that the vanquisher would be born at the end of the seventh month – July."

Harry nodded his head rather numbly.

"So... so my parents had defied him on three seperate times? That's how it was determined that this thing is supposed to be about me?"

"Yes, both of your parents were active in the Order of the Phoenix," Maximilian said almost absently. "They went on raids together, and on three separate occasions, took part in battles where Voldemort was present, fought against his forces, and yet managed to escape alive."

Harry nodded numbly, feeling rather dreadful. "And the next part?"

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but it will be a gift the Dark Lord knows of, naught," Maximilian recited from memory in a slow voice. His lips pressed together into a thin smile after that.

"But what does _that_ mean?" Harry asked in bewilderment. "In what way has he marked me as his equal? What gift is he supposed to have given me, but not know? That doesn't make sense."

"Oh... I think it makes a great deal of sense," Maximilian mused quietly. "The first bit is two parts – you were marked physically, yes – your scar – but there was something else gifted to you that made you equal to the Dark Lord in a far more obscure way, and I can say with some certainty that he was entirely unaware of what he had done..."

"What?" Harry asked, sitting up and feeling that dread building again.

Maximilian turned his gaze sharply back on Harry and paused a moment. "We should not discuss it here. We will analyze this line further when we are back at the school."

Harry sagged with slight frustration but nodded his head in concession. It was the next part that he was most wary of. "And the line after that?" Harry asked, already grimacing.

"And one will be destroyed by the hand of the other for neither can live while the other only survives," Maximilian recited.

Harry felt himself pale and a sweat break out on his forehead and the back of his neck. This... this couldn't be happening. It just wasn't possible. How could anyone honestly expect that _Harry_ might somehow have a power that made him Voldemort's equal, and seriously expect _Harry_ to be the one to destroy Voldemort? It just wasn't possible! It was like Harry's own death certificate had been signed and laid out before him. One of them had to die by the hand of the other, and Harry rather seriously doubted his chances in being the victor in that fight. He was doomed.

"You have a way to tell if a prophecy is fulfilled, don't you?" Maximilian was asking the Unspeakable and Harry's head jerked up to look at the wizard with confusion. He couldn't imagine why Maximilian would even ask a question like that.

The Unspeakable nodded. "We do."

"And _when_ it was fulfilled, yes?"

"Correct."

"Well?" he asked sounding slightly impatient. The Unspeakable seemed to heave another impatient breath and once again waved his wand over the orb making some sort of magical report appear that only he could see.

"This prophecy is fulfilled. What is foretold within it has already come to pass."

"What?" Harry said, feeling utterly bewildered. "But that's not possible! Voldemort is alive, _I saw him_. He was definitely still alive back in June and I most certainly haven't destroyed him by hand since then."

"When was this prophecy marked as fulfilled?" Maximilian asked eagerly, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

Harry looked over at him, even more confused than ever. It almost seemed as if Maximilian had already seen all this coming and was just asking to confirm his own ideas.

"It was marked as fulfilled May 29th of 1993," the Unspeakable replied in a bored tone.

Harry felt himself flinch in bewildered shock.

"1993?" Harry echoed incredulously. "But, Voldemort wasn't even..." Harry trailed off and frowned as he tried to remember what was going on in the spring of 1993. That was the spring of his second year. He started his third year in the fall, but in May he was still in second year.

May 29th... that sounded like the right time for when Harry went down into the Chamber of Secrets.

"That was when I went down into the Chamber," Harry murmured under his breath, staring with unfocused eyes at the dimly glowing prophecy in the bowl before him.

"I believe you destroyed two things, _by hand_ that day," Maximilian mused calmly.

Harry looked up at him, his eyes focusing slightly but remaining confused. "Huh?"

"You killed the Basilisk, of course, but there was something else you destroyed while down there... wasn't there?" he asked in the way a teacher asks a pupil a question in order to lead them to the correct answer to a puzzle.

"Tom Riddle's diary," Harry whispered with some level of dawning. But it still didn't really make sense. How could destroying that book have anything to do with 'Vanquishing the Dark Lord?'

Maximilian grinned slightly and nodded his head. "It will make sense, someday Harry. I can see it perfectly in my mind... the prophecy is crystal clear to me now, and it most certainly is fulfilled. You are no longer bound by these words. They are over and done with."

"But Voldemort is still alive," Harry argued, still very confused.

"Perhaps, but prophecies can often be very literal, but tricky, things. It never said you had to _kill Voldemort_. It said that you would _destroy the Dark Lord_. Those two things do not necessarily have to mean the same thing."

"How could putting a basilisk fang through a book, destroy the Dark Lord?" Harry asked, incredulously.

Maximilian just grinned back at him knowingly, and Harry felt mildly annoyed to feel so out of the loop on this, when it was obviously a big deal that pertained quite specifically _to him_.

"The point, Harry, is that it _did_. In some way – the way that actually mattered _to this prophecy_, your actions supposedly destroyed the Dark Lord. What was left behind? I suppose we do not truly know at this point, but as far as the magic of this prophecy is concerned, he is no longer the Dark Lord that you were prophesied to vanquish. You're part in this play has been concluded. No matter what expectations people like Dumbledore might still hold, you are not responsible for doing anything further. And you already... _won_, per se. You were the one who destroyed the Dark Lord, so he will not be the one destroying you. Do you see?"

Harry nodded his head very slowly, and just as slowly, the vice-like dread in his chest began to loosen. He knew he couldn't reasonably doubt Maximilian's words since it was the Unspeakable sitting at the table with them who had said the prophecy was fulfilled. And seeing as how Harry was clearly still alive, he apparently had 'won'. It just didn't seem... real.

"Are you ready for the next one?" the Unspeakable asked suddenly, drawing both of their attention back to him.

"Next one?"


	13. Chapter 13

AN: This officially puts me as caught up. There are now as many chapters here, as there is on affnet and livejournal. So from here on out, whenever I post new chapters, I'll post it to all three sources at the same time.

– – – –

"Are you ready for the next one?" the Unspeakable asked suddenly, drawing both of their attention back to him.

"Next one?" Harry asked and his eyes fell back onto the lacquered box with a returning sense of dread. Even Maximilian looked bewildered now.

"There's another?" he asked in surprise.

"We hold two prophecies on file where Harry Potter was identified as the subject. I brought both," the man replied simply.

Harry's jaw floundered for a moment before he pulled himself back together and gave a shaky nod.

"Return the one from the bowl to the box and then put the second one in it's place," the man instructed and Harry did as he was told. As he picked up the second one, he looked close to read the tag.

_C. I. V to Y. M. B_

_(?)Lord Voldemort, (?)Albus Dumbledore, and Harry Potter_

Harry had no idea who these initials might refer to, and thought it was likely even if he knew the names to go with them, he'd have no clue who the people were.

"C. I. V? Is that the Seer, Casandra Vablatsky?" Maximilian asked with raised brows as he aimed the question at the Unspeakable. The man remained silent and Harry figured that he probably wasn't going to answer the question. Steeling himself, Harry set the orb into the bowl and sat back down in his chair. The Unspeakable then tapped his wand on the bowl, just as he had before, and it pulsed and flashed before a cone of light shot into the air over the table and projected an image.

This time the woman that could be seen there appeared quite old with thinning, stringy gray hair and a heavily lined face. Her eyes were also completely clouded over with cataracts, perhaps, and she was rocking slightly in place while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Before her was a small fire pit that had what looked like a pile of various herbs sitting on a metal grill over the flames. Heavy white smoke raised from the herbs in spinning tendrils. The woman's head lulled to the side slightly before a smile curled her lips and she spoke.

"_The Sun is in Scorpio with Pluto and Mars, and All Hallows Eve brings bad tidings for the Boy-Who-Lived once again. Three deadly tasks will be faced, and with them The Power will rise. As the third task closes, the Boy-Who-Lived will find himself before the One-Who-Flies-from-Death, and The Power that was built will restore what once was lost."_ The old Seer paused and let her head lull from side to side a few times, humming under her breath and not once blinking the clouded, unseeing eyes.

"_With the end of summer will come great change for The-Boy-Who-Lived and a new path will be forged. Ally will be revealed as foe, and greatest foe will become ally. Friendships will be tested, made, and lost. Light will shine upon the darkness revealing the truth. The Greater Good will fall, but wizarding Britain will prosper for it."_

Her head flopped forward and her whole body shook for a moment before she jerked upright and smiled thinly. The image then faded away in a puff of smoke and mist as the light dimmed from the orb, leaving nothing more than a faint misty glow.

Harry let a shuddering breath escape his lungs.

"I assume that _this one_ is _not_ fulfilled," Maximilian asked in an airy tone that was betrayed by the breathless nature of his voice.

"No. This one is in play now," the Unspeakable answered roughly.

"When was this prophecy made?" Maximilian asked.

The Unspeakable waved his wand over it casting that same spell as before and observing whatever the readout it gave him said. "September 1994," he responded, finally.

Harry released a shaky breath. So this was from his first month of fourth year. He turned his gaze on Maximilian. "Can you repeat this one too?"

"Yes," Maximilian said, still seeming a bit overwhelmed himself, although his eyes were once again taking on that excited gleam. "It began, '_The Sun is in Scorpio with Pluto and Mars, and All Hallows Eve brings bad tidings for the Boy-Who-Lived once again.' _I would have to check the astrological charts from the time to be sure, but I suspect that this line denotes the region in the night's sky that the sun, pluto and mars resided during the fall of last year. I would assume so, at least, given the next line. '_Three deadly tasks will be faced, and with them The Power will rise. As the third task closes, the Boy-Who-Lived will find himself before the One-Who-Flies-from-Death, and The Power that was built will restore what once was lost.'"_

"I don't quite understand that," Harry said with a frown. "Who is the One-Who-Flies-from-Death? And what's this about a Power rising and restoring what was lost?"

"Well, I believe The-One-Who-Flies-of-Death refers to Voldemort. 'Vol de mor(t)', in French, translates to _Flight of Death_, so... that one seems fairly obvious. And actually, that's actually the proper pronunciation of the name – Volde_mor_. The T is supposed to be silent. Of course, hardly anyone actually speaks the name, and those few who do, bastardize it by pronouncing it wrong. Not that it really matters, I suppose."

Harry blinked and gaped slightly. Voldemort meant _Flight of Death?_ _ Seriously? _Harry also took pause for a second to wrap his mind around the idea that he might have been pronouncing the name wrong all this time. He'd noticed over the last month that the few times Maximilian had said Voldemort's full name, he _had_ left off the T, but it wasn't something Harry had given much thought to.

"As for the Power Rising part, well in many forms of old ritual magic, when the spell was performed independently, by someone with very little access to their own magic, the ritual can be supplied greater power by having a set of difficult challenges overcome in preparation for the final ritual. At some point, people noticed that, under the right circumstances, magic would actually reward _hard work_. The more difficult it was to get to the end, the more power would be built up and the more effective the final ritual would be."

"Wait – are you saying that the reason Voldemort got me entered into the tournament, leading up to his resurrection, was so that it would build up more power for his ritual?" Harry exclaimed as he was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of comprehension and tremendous annoyance. Of course, it also felt somewhat relieving as well. He had often wondered what the point was in all that Tournament nonsense when all that was truly necessary to get Harry to the graveyard, was for Crouch Jr. to get him to touch a portkey. Surely it would have been a lot easier to just hand Harry an object that had been turned into a portkey. Harry had trusted 'Moody' more than enough to just accept something handed to him by the professor. Harry couldn't quite understand what the point had been in putting Harry through so much ridiculous nonsense when it really didn't seem necessary _at all_.

But now, it seemed, there had actually been a point to it all after all. There had actually been _a reason_ that Harry had to go through all that crap, for Voldemort to resurrect. Of course, that definitely didn't make it alright – it meant that Harry had been outcast, and terrified, and nearly fried, and drowned, specifically for the purpose of resurrecting the man who had killed his parents and tried to kill him. And that sucked. But it was still somehow better to think that there'd been a reason for him having to endure all that shit, rather than just the irrational whim of a wizard.

Maximilian's brows raised for a moment before a gentle almost pitying look look graced his features. "You believed that you were put through all that insanity for no reason at all, didn't you?" he asked softly.

Harry closed his eyes, grimaced, and nodded.

"Mmm. Well, I suspect it might be a slight consolation to know that there was _some_ purpose to all that. Not much, I'm sure, but it's something."

Harry just shrugged a bit.

"Now... let's see, the last part went, _'With the end of summer will come great change for The-Boy-Who-Lived and a new path will be forged. Ally will be revealed as foe, and greatest foe will become ally.'_" Maximilian recited, trailing off in the end and observing Harry cautiously.

"Ally will be revealed as foe... Sounds like Dumbledore," Harry grumbled, scowling down at the table but then he frowned in confusion instead. "But... greatest foe becomes ally?" he asked, then looking back up at Maximilian questioningly.

"What do _you_ think it means?" Maximilian asked, rather than offer up anything.

"I... well, I mean..." Harry hesitated and looking down at the table where he gripped his hands tightly into fists. "My greatest foe... that would be Voldemort, wouldn't it?"

"That seems... likely. Yes," Maximilian said cautiously with a nod.

"So... according to this prophecy, _Voldemort_ is supposed to become _my ally?_ I mean... surely not, right? That's just..." Harry trailed off, feeling confused. His insides wanted to just deny the possibility all together. Part of him _didn't want_ Voldemort to be his ally, even if it meant that Harry might not have to worry about being killed by the man. The man had _killed his parents_. He's started a war – killed people, and ordered people to kill people. He's propagated the whole blood supremacy thing... sure there seemed to have been more to it than that, but even if there were _other_ things going on, it didn't change the fact that the whole anti-muggle thing had been there too. "What if.. what if it means someone else? Maybe er... Malfoy?" he offered up weakly.

Maximilian chuckled. "I rather doubt that the youthful rivalry that you and Mr. Malfoy have harbored over the years quite qualifies the other teen as your _greatest foe._"

Harry grimaced and sighed, nodding and opting not to respond further. "Yeah, fine. What was next?"

"Ah – the last line went _'Friendships will be tested, made, and lost. Light will shine upon the darkness revealing the truth. The Greater Good will fall, but wizarding Britain will prosper for it.' _That was it."

Harry frowned again and his brow furrowed with worry. "Not sure I like the 'friendships will be tested, made and lost' bit."

Maximilian hummed sympathetically.

"But what's the line about 'The Greater Good will fall' mean?"

"Dumbledore," the Unspeakable stated, seemingly out of no where, causing Harry to jump slightly, as he'd practically forgotten the man was even there.

"I'm sorry – you said Dumbledore?" Maximilian asked, curiously.

"It is a line I have seen associated with Albus Dumbledore in a few prior instances. The line 'Greater Good' is the specific reason why Dumbledore's name ended up on the tag, even if it is still unconfirmed."

"Fascinating..." Maximilian mused.

"Are you done?" the man asked, sounding impatient.

Maximilian turned questioning eyes on Harry and Harry sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. I don't see any point I staying any longer. We can always talk about this stuff back at Hogwarts," Harry said.

"Good. Return the orb to the box, please," the Unspeakable instructed and Harry stood back up, reached into the bowl and moved the orb from it and back into the box. The Unspeakable stood, levitated the box in front of him and told them that someone would be along shortly to escort them back to a Floo. He then left.

Harry heaved out a sigh and settled back into his seat, sure that he'd probably be sitting there for an age again, only to be proved wrong a moment later when another Unspeakable entered the room and instructed them to follow. They were led back out into the circular room with the spinning doors, then out to the Ministry Hallway and back to the same office they had arrived in at the start of their morning here. After tossing the floo powder into the hearth, Maximilian wrapped his arms around Harry and held him tightly. Harry felt like melting into the embrace but he was nervous and slightly embarrassed to be held so tightly while in front of another wizard that Harry didn't know.

The worry was pushed out of his mind quickly as Maximilian called out the destination and they were whisked away in the magical fire.

A moment later Harry opened his eyes to see Maximilian's familiar office swirl into view and he was guided out of the hearth and towards the sofa the two often shared. Harry moved towards it on auto-pilot, letting the elder wizard guide him without complaint. He didn't complain when Maximilian sat beside him, wrapped his arm around Harry's back and pulled him tightly into his side.

Harry heaved a contented sigh as the contact helped decrease the strength of the overwhelmed state he found himself in after everything that he'd taken in today. They remained silent for several long moments after that, just deflating, but Harry knew that he could only avoid facing this for so long. He needed to understand it, and right now, his mind was too muddled and overwhelmed to do that.

"Okay," Harry heaved finally opening his eyes and looking warily up at Maximilian, "when we were talking about the first prophecy, you said you understood how my destroying that diary could count towards the whole 'destroying the Dark Lord with my hands' deal. I guess I'd like to understand that first. We can tackle the other stuff after that."

Maximilian nodded thoughtfully. "A reasonable request," he said and then paused as if he were trying to figure how how to start. "Before I tell you this... you must promise to never repeat it to _anyone_. This knowledge will need to be protected in your mind, especially strongly. It is _very sensitive_ information. Do you understand?"

Harry sat up from where he'd been leaning against Maximilian's side and gave the other man a serious look. "Alright. I promise. I won't ever repeat it to anyone."

Maximilian nodded slowly before pulling out his wand and casting what Harry was able to vaguely recognize as a number of powerful secrecy and privacy charms. The fact that he felt he needed _extra_ security, even in his office which was already heavily warded, told Harry just how serious this apparently was.

"As I understand you already know, the Dark Lord Voldemort's true name is Tom Riddle. He was born at the very end of 1926, and his mother died almost immediately after childbirth. The father was long gone by that point and so young infant Tom Riddle was left in the care of muggles at an orphanage. How good is your muggle history?"

"Er... um, okay? I guess? Well, probably kind of rubbish, honestly," Harry admitted with a grimace.

"Yes, well the Great War took place between 1918 and 1921. Many European countries accumulated a considerable debt for their involvement in the First World War, and Britain was one of them. This debt destabilized many European economies as they tried to rebuild during the 1920s, and then everything crashed in 1929. With this in mind, I'm sure you can imagine that a home for penniless orphaned children, operating in London during this time, would not be the most pleasant place to be.

"Not only was food incredibly hard to come by, but no one got anything new. There were no toys, no decent clothing. Everyone was miserable and misery breeds anger and violence. And of course, by 1939, World War II began and brought with it food rations, more starvations, constant fear of death and the unknown, and airstrikes and bombs. It was obviously a very bad time to grow up in," Maximilian said with solemn seriousness and Harry nodded his head slowly, trying to imagine just what the world would have been like during that time.

"1938 is the year he began Hogwarts, so each summer after that, he was having to return to muggle London with the threat of bombs and no magical wards to protect him. The other children were likely even more bitter in regards to him upon his return. Not only did he get the extremely rare and inexplicable ability to go to a _boarding school_ for the majority of the year, but once he returned, his added presence reduced their already meager rations even more. They were likely jealous and angry and confused. He was different then they were – always had been, only now he was also treated _special_ for some reason, and that only increased their distrust and hatred of him. There are several recorded incidences with the Ministry's Department for the Restriction of Underage Magic where Tom Riddle used some form of magic against his fellow orphans and the Ministry was alerted. When wizards from the Ministry came to investigate and start sorting out obligations and decide on punishments for Tom Riddle's actions, they found him bloodied and near death while the other boys had been merely stunned from bursts of controlled wandless magic. He spent the entire month of August between his third and fourth years in St. Mungo's."

Harry's jaw dropped. "That's... awful," Harry whispered.

"Each year, starting with his first, he supposedly asked the then Deputy Headmaster, Dumbledore, to plead his case to Headmaster Dippet, asking for some way to stay behind in the school during the summer months, but the request was always denied, and after fourth year, he stopped bothering to even ask."

Harry felt a terrible sort of empathy for the young Tom Riddle in that moment. He too, had begged Dumbledore to let him remain at Hogwarts – where he was happy and fed and warm. He too, had been denied. But as much as Harry had hated the idea of returning to his relatives, and as awful as they treated him, they at least had never beaten him to the point of near-death. Harry's life wasn't seriously in jeopardy on Privet Drive. His spirit, self-worth, and happiness – yes, but not his life. The worst he got was from his cousin Dudley and his gang. Vernon would bop him on the head when he was seriously angry, but mostly he just manhandled him by dragging him around too roughly and throwing him against a wall or into his room.

"They like to say that the only thing Voldemort ever feared was Dumbledore," Maximilian began again after a brief pause, "but I would argue that is not true at all."

"Oh?" Harry asked, looking back over at the elder wizard curiously.

"Mm. What Voldemort feared was _death_. But not just death – death and obscurity. He saw himself as having the potential to be the greatest wizard who ever lived. He was far more powerful and intelligent than all of his peers, and even some of his professors, _and he knew it_. But every year that he had to return to the looming threat of death at the hands of the other orphans, or thieves, or _bombs_ raining fire from the sky – he was overcome with the terrible fear that he would die in utter obscurity, without ever fulfilling his great potential. So he became obsessed with finding a magical solution to his _mortality_."

Harry frowned. "What's that mean?"

"He tried to find a way to make himself immortal. There _are_ several options, however many of them require things that he could not come by. They required an obscure or lost artifact, or you had to give up something else he simply didn't have to give away. The method he finally settled on appeared to be the best he was going to find and be able to perform. He made the mistake of performing the magic without fully understanding the _price_ that he had to pay. He favored the method he found _because_ he believed that he was losing nothing in the deal – but he was wrong.

"The method he chose appeared to have only one real deficiency – specifically, the fact that it did not actually protect his living body much at all. It secured his _soul – _the magic prevented his soul from releasing from his body upon death and moving on to the next plane. The magic also provided the power to regenerate his body after death. It would then return to life and his soul would still be in it and he could then return to life. This, of course, only worked _so far_. The body still needed to be mostly whole – lost limbs would be a problem, and having his entire body annihilated would basically doom him to existence as a bodiless wraith – as you now know he suffered from when he tried to kill _you_."

A stunned breath exhaled from Harry's parted lips. "That's how he didn't die," Harry whispered.

"Yes. The method he used to achieve his 'immortality' was the creation of 'horcruxes'. Now Harry, you must _never_ utter that word before any other witch or wizard. Just _knowing_ about the magic will draw scrutiny and suspicion upon you."

"Of course," Harry said with a fervent nod of his head. "I won't tell this to anyone."

"A horcrux is an object where you store a piece of your soul. It acts as an anchor. The soul piece, while broken off and separated from the main soul, is still tethered to the main soul. A soul is normally always tethered to the living body and it is the body that keeps the soul here, in this world of the living. But when the body dies, that tether is severed and the soul passes on. A horcrux acts as an anchor, holding it here instead, and giving the body time to be regenerated by the magic of the immortality ritual. Are you following along?"

Harry nodded. He was leaning forward towards Maximilian in his seat, fascinated and horrified at the same time.

"Young Tom Riddle created his first horcrux when he was only fifteen years old. The same age that you are right now. He first discovered the concept of horcruxes in books that only vaguely described what they were and warned desperately against their creation. Again and again the books merely said it should not be done. Finally he found one that actually detailed the rituals that needed to be performed and how to create the actual horcrux. It did not, however, detail any of the risks, or specifically the _price_ that came with their creation. He performed this ritual out of desperate fear of death, youthful arrogance, and ignorance. This one decision – this one _mistake_ – would doom him, and the wizarding world for years to come." Maximilian paused ominously.

"What was the price?" Harry whispered.

"His humanity, and eventually, his sanity. You see, while he knew that he was breaking of a 'piece' of his soul into the horcrux vessel, he assumed _incorrectly_, that he was only breaking off a small _sliver_ of his soul. The reality was that the creation of a horcrux broke his soul _in half_. So when he created a horcrux at age fifteen, half of his human soul – half of his _humanity_ – was frozen and stored inside an object, leaving himself with only half a soul. That alone would lead to the eventual deterioration of his mind and his ability to understand and empathize with other people, but it would have been a very _slow_ process. He could have survived mostly undamaged for many many decades to come, if he had stopped there. But he didn't.

"He was overcome with his success and eventually decided that _one_ safety net was not enough for him. More than that, he wanted to accomplish something that no one else had ever accomplished before. No one else had ever made more than one horcrux, and he was convinced that the only reason it had never been done was because others before him were too weak and too cowardly to dare it.

"Of course the reality is that they understood what they were doing better and knew it would be insanity to attempt. But he was young, foolish, and arrogant. In the end, he decided that he was going to split his soul into seven pieces – six horcruxes and then his main central soul in his body. He assumed that it would be six small slivers and then his large main soul, of course that wasn't how it actually worked.

"The first horcrux left him with half a human soul in his body. With the creation of the second, a quarter of a human soul was placed inside the second horcrux while a quarter remained in his body. Twenty-five percent of a human soul. Third horcrux split it in half again, leaving twelve and a quarter percent of a soul. Fourth horcrux left just over six percent. Fifth horcrux left just over three percent. By the time he had created the fifth, his body and mind had already deteriorated terribly. He had kept his intelligence and his ambition, but his ability to comprehend _humanity_ was long gone. He couldn't understand basic human emotions – he saw them as weaknesses.

"While he was already mostly made, he was still powerful and intelligent and he did finally begin to suspect that something might be going wrong with him. He put the creation of any additional horcruxes on hold and did not make the final sixth horcrux. All throughout the fifties and sixties he ambitiously sought to achieve his goals and did in fact make great strides on the political front. But politics is a very frustrating battle to wage and his sanity continued to gradually slip all during that time. Finally, something snapped, and his ability to differentiate between when it was and was not appropriate to kill someone just because they disagreed with you, disappeared.

"After that, he stopped 'wasting time' with doing things the proper way – the subtle or cunning way – and started just killing people left and right. That was when the war truly began. Now, let us go back to the fifteen year old boy who created his first horcrux. You can literally make _any_ object into a horcrux. It just has to be a physical object. Technically, it can even be something that _lives_, can rot, or die. Obviously, _that_'s a bad idea, since when the vessel is destroyed, it stops acting as an anchor.

"The object that 15-year-old Tom Riddle decided to 'pour his soul into' was an object he had been 'pouring his soul into' for years – his diary. The object that you destroyed, down in the Chamber of Secrets, back in your second year, was the vessel containing _half_ of Voldemort's soul."

Harry felt his heart racing in his chest and felt his lips part in shock yet again. He had destroyed _half_ of Voldemort's soul?

"Now there is some confusion as to what happens to the soul piece when the horcrux vessel is destroyed. Some believe that the soul pieces are destroyed as well, but I believe that they are, in fact, _released_. The tether that connects the horcrux piece and the main soul, pulls the broken off piece back and it gets reintegrated with the main soul. So when you destroyed the diary, you returned half a human soul to Voldemort's disembodied spirit to be reintegrated with the whole. A creature that had existed on little more than speck of a human soul, for _decades_, suddenly had a huge chunk of his humanity returned to him.

"In that moment, Harry, I believe that you truly did destroy the_ Dark Lord_ – the _inhuman monster_ that waged a war and killed so many people. You destroyed him and left behind the wizard he had once been. The creature that was The Dark Lord was not human. He existed on such a tiny shred of a human soul that there was truly nothing substantially human left in him. But you returned to him the mostly untainted soul of his fifteen-year-old self who had only ever really known fear, and that _had_ to have affected him. I suspect it changed him a great deal. _You_ changed him, a great deal."

Maximilian sighed and let himself sink back into the sofa where he sat and silently waited for Harry to process it all.

Harry, himself, had no idea what to feel.

"This... this is just your theory, though – right? I mean, you can't uhm... you can't really _know_ that destroying that diary would make him more human, can you?"

Maximilian sighed and looked away for a moment. "I suppose," he finally said with a slightly conceding shrug. "I'm very sure of my theory though. But it's possible I am wrong."

"How do you know all that stuff, anyway?"

"Many years of research and happening to know the right people."

Harry hummed, nodding his head slowly and sighed as he too, let himself fall back into the couch cushions.

"But do you accept, at least, the fact that the prophecy that pegged you as responsible for defeating the Dark Lord, is fulfilled?" Maximilian asked then.

Harry pondered that for a moment before shrugging. "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I only just found out that's what it actually said, today, and then minutes later I find out it apparently doesn't even matter anymore, but that there's apparently _a second_ prophecy about me that I didn't even know about," Harry groused before sighing and shaking his head tiredly. "So what about that second prophecy? I mean... it sounded like a lot of it had already started to happen – it talked about the tournament and me ending up at Voldemort's resurrection, and about me learning that Dumbledore is a shithead..."

Something of a surprised and amused snort emerged from Maximilian at that and Harry looked up over at the man to see him trying to smooth out his features.

"You find that funny?" Harry said, grinning slightly despite his otherwise dimmed mood.

"I suppose I found your phrasing to be... amusing. Yes," Maximilian admitted, grinning slightly and then looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Harry. This is no time to be joking."

"Nah, I probably need some levity with all this... I still don't know how to feel about the idea of Voldemort being prophesied to become my ally. I can't honestly say I would _want_ to be on the same side as him," Harry ended with a bit of a growl.

"Even if he's nothing like the man he once was?" Maximilian asked gently. "From what I understand, he basically let you go after the ritual to restore his body."

Harry frowned. "I escaped."

"Did he do anything to stop you?"

"I... well... I guess not – no" Harry admitted hesitantly.

"He's been back since the end of last May and yet there has been no word of any death eater activity. No attacks or violence... it is rather curious. Of course, one could theorize that he's laying low and rebuilding his base or something, but as far as I've heard there has been none of that. Granted I'm not keeping up on such things at the moment," Maximilian continued on thoughtfully.

Harry looked at him somewhat incredulously. "You really think that he might be... changed? That he would be different now?"

"I think it is a possibility. I honestly can't say for sure, Harry."

Harry heaved a frustrated sigh and let himself lean into Maximilian's side. The elder wizard lifted up his arm and wrapped it over Harry's shoulders, pulling him in closer and leaning his head down over Harry's black mop.

"You shouldn't let worries about this consume you now, Harry. There did not appear to be any specific responsibility that this prophecy has tasked you with any time soon. If something happens, it will happen in it's own time. Until then, you should just continue to live your life as you would without having ever heard that there _was_ a prophecy. Move forward with your emancipation. Concentrate on your studies. We'll continue with the exercises to help you better connect to your magic and improve your performance. Exercise in the mornings, go to the debate club meetings, eat meals, hang out with your friends. Live goes on, Harry."

Harry felt the stress melting away, both from Maximilian's greatly needed words, and from the close contact with the man.

"Thanks," Harry whispered after a few long moments of silence.

"For what?"

"For being here. For going with me. For saying that – putting things into perspective. I really needed to hear that."

"Just glad I could help," Maximilian responded, smiling fondly down at Harry. "I'll always be here for you, Harry. I want you to know that you can always come to me. You've come to mean a great deal to me. You know that, don't you?"

Harry opened his eyes wide and turned his head, looking up at the elder wizard with awe and confusion mingling together in his eyes.

"You mean that?" Harry whispered, as if he were afraid speaking any louder would break some spell.

"I do... I don't think I've ever felt so strongly for anyone. I feel... protective and... possibly a bit possessive," he grinned sheepishly and chuckled. "Perhaps a _lot_ possessive. The idea of anyone else ever harming you... it stokes a fire deep inside me that I've managed to otherwise keep tamed, of late. You are my precious one, Harry. I would very much like it if you allowed me to continue looking after you for many years to come. And perhaps, as you grow and learn and mature, we'll find ourselves on a more even playing field. Equals. Perhaps someday... partners?"

Harry's eyes were wide, his brows nearly lost in his fringe and his lips were parted in awe, disbelief, and _Merlin forbid_, hope. He felt as if his heart had exploded in his chest and he felt the slight sting of threatening tears in his eyes and had to blink quite quickly all of a sudden to push them away. His throat was thick and all he could think about was that this couldn't be real.

The idea that this man, especially, could honestly _want him_ in such a way. Not just some sort of short-term infatuation, but the idea that Maximilian had hopes for a long-term relationship was just... astounding to Harry.

He wanted it. Quite badly. Was it even possible, though?

He hoped so.

"Can I kiss you, Harry?" Maximilian whispered.

Harry nodded his head childishly. "Yes, please," he whispered back.

Maximilian grinned widely and leaned down, pressing his lips against Harry's, gently at first, and then with greater force. The arm that was still wrapped around Harry's shoulders pulled him in more tightly and his hand shifted to Harry's head where it buried itself in Harry's hair. Harry moaned and wrapped his outside arm over, grasping hold of the front of Maximilian's robes and holding tight.

Lips parted and Maximilian's tongue invaded Harry's mouth, mapping it out and dancing with Harry's tongue, illiciting another needy moan from Harry. This was incredible. He felt light-headed and mildly giddy, but he was still very much still in control of his own faculties. It wasn't the foggy almost drugged-like experience he'd had the previous times they'd snogged. This time Harry was in control of his own actions, and he knew he wanted this.

No insecurities or self-doubt came intruding upon his actions this time – of course, the fact that Maximilian had started it, helped a lot – and soon Harry found himself being drawn up and over until he was perched across Maximilian's lap, straddling his legs. Maximilian's hand found it's way onto Harry's arse and pulled him down until their pelvises were flush against each other and Harry wasted no time in starting a grinding rhythm.

Harry whimpered and keened into Maximilian's eager mouth and his hands began to explore the elder wizard's clothed chest, wishing desperately that it didn't have so damn many buttons, or that he knew that wandless trick Max used to unbutton them all in an instant. After Harry had let out a frustrated growl, Maximilian chuckled and reached a hand in to run his fingers down the front, unbuttoning them all in one swift gesture.

"_Yes_," Harry hissed out gladly as he reached down and pushed the robe-tunic open to reveal Maximilian's smooth chest. Following some sort of mad instinct, Harry latched onto the elder man's collar bone and kissed and sucked his way into the hallow of the man's neck and then along the glorious pale column of skin up towards the man's ear. Maximilian laid his head back and let him work for several long minutes, breathing heavily and making wonderful tiny sounds of pleasure every time Harry hit something especially sensitive. It drove Harry wild and all he could think was that he wanted more.

Suddenly, he felt himself being lifted and the world shifting around as Max stood up, turned, and deposited him onto the sofa where Maximilian himself had been sitting only a moment before. Harry blinked up at him in disorientation and disappointment until he saw the hungry look in the man's eyes. Maximilian fell to his knees and ran his hands across Harry's thighs; up and down several times, tantilizingly close to Harry's groin but not quite touching it, before his hands spread Harry's legs apart and then reached up to the waist of Harry's trousers.

He paused there and looked up, making eye contact with Harry and silently asking permission to proceed.

Harry's heart was beating a furious tattoo in his chest and he almost frantically nodded his head in unspoken permission. He felt impatient, desperate, and _terrified_ of what was to come next. Maximilian wasted no time in undoing the button fly and then reaching out to run his hands along the side of Harry's hips, down his thighs, up his thighs, and then looping his fingers over the top of the trousers and giving a gentle tug. Harry lifted his hips off the sofa and a moment later found his trousers _and pants_ being pulled down past his knees, to fall to his ankles.

Harry's breath was practically coming out in pants now, and his erection sprung out, free and tall and _purple_ from need and impatience. Harry felt himself flush and was suddenly overcome with self-consciousness as Maximilian remained kneeling before him, staring _hungrily_ at Harry's cock.

"Beautiful," he whispered reverently and before Harry had the time to process that, Maximilian dived in and ran his tongue along Harry's cock from base to tip.

Harry gasped in shock at the hot, wet muscle that had just _licked him_ in one of his most intimate places. But it appeared that this was only the beginning because a moment later Maximilian took Harry's cock entirely into his mouth and far deeper than Harry would have thought possible.

"Oh fuck!" Harry groaned as his head fell back against the couch back and Harry had to fight to get his eyes to open up again so he could look back down at the wonderful thing Maximilian was doing in his lap at that moment.

The elder wizard began to bob his head up and down, hallowing out his cheeks and swirling his tongue in the most sinful patterns. Harry's mind was blown and all he could truly process was _hot, wet,_ and _so good_.

Maximilian's hands were running up and down Harry's thighs still and it took Harry a few moments to register that they were traveling more and more each moment. One went around the outside and began to massage Harry's arse with his thumb moving in circles while the fingers moved ever tantalizingly closer to the cleft of Harry's cheeks. The other hand took the inner route and began to fondle Harry's balls while the middle finger extended and began to press rhythmically against the spot just behind Harry's balls.

Harry gasped out incoherent curses and prayers. Pleading for more and panting out Max's name. Harry's whole world was made up of pleasure and _Max_, and _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god, so good. So close!_

Harry began to rock his hips unconsciously against the teasingly amazing pressure beneath his balls and the strangely different, but good sensation of something stroking along his arse. He could feel the pressure building and his thrashing became more erratic as the intensity neared his peak. He was so close. It was so good.

Nothing before was ever this good. Not flying. Not wanking. Nothing. Not even when he and Maximilian had dry humped on the man's couch down in Hogsmeade had it been like this.

"Oh shit – oh shit – oh – oh – I'm, fuck, Max, I'm... I'm – " Harry screamed and threw his head back as his whole body convulsed and twitched with the force of his orgasm. He felt his cock pulse and gasped at the shockingly arousing sight of Maximilian still with his lips wrapped around Harry's cock, still sucking on him and then pulling back when it was clear Harry was done and gently licking him clean.

Harry continued to shake and spasm for several long, sensitive seconds after that. His mind was blown, and he was in total and utter nirvana.

"Oh my god," Harry muttered, totally spent, as he let his head fall back against the couch for the last time, and allowed his eyes to finally fall closed. "I can't believe... that was... oh god."

A smug-sounding chuckle emerged from the god-like man below him and Harry felt the air shift as Maximilian stood, seemed to move around a bit and finally sit back down beside Harry. Aside from being aware, on some level, that this had taken place, Harry was still mostly mind-blown at the moment, and so it came as a bit of a shock when his mind finally registered a sort of repetitive shimmy from beside him.

Harry finally willed his eyes to open and turned his head, only to gasp and find his brain shutting down again. Maximilian's trousers were opened and pushed down to his knees; his cock was out – _and it was glorious – _and the elder wizard was stroking himself rather intently. His head was lulled back slightly and his eyes were heavy-lidded, but they were also trained on Harry at the same time.

It registered suddenly, that while Harry had gotten off, Maximilian _had not_. Some part of Harry's brain realized that he should probably offer to return the favor, although he had no idea what he was doing and was afraid he'd make a total fool of himself if he tried. But a far more powerful part of his brain was presently consumed by the spectacular vision he was gifted to watching at that moment. He'd never really watched another man wank, and seeing Max lost in that rapture, _touching himself_, and looking so intently at Harry while he did it – it was unquestionably the most erotic thing Harry had ever seen... well, outside of seeing Max's lips wrapped around Harry's own cock. _That_ was probably the most erotic thing Harry had ever seen.

"Kiss me," Max panted a moment later and Harry was pulled rather forcefully from his own stunned arousal by the command. Harry nearly gasped as his arousal spiked and he wasted little time in leaning in and letting Max reach his free hand over to bury it into Harry's hair, pulling him in roughly and holding him close.

They kissed deeply and Harry moaned as he became aware that Max's stroking rhythm had only become more desperate as they pressed on.

Max pulled Harry's head away and Harry gasped for air but never moved more than a breaths width from Max's swollen lips.

"Say your mine," Max almost growled and Harry moaned at the rush of delight and arousal that shot through him at the tone and what had been said.

"I'm yours," he gasped, not even pausing for a moment to question the statement.

"Mine," Max growled through clenched teeth and Harry watched, enraptured, as Maximilian's body shook and jerked. The man's hand tightened in Harry's hair and the painful tug illicited a gasp of surprise – mostly at the spike of arousal that came with it – from Harry's mouth. Harry's eyes fell trained on Max's face as it twisted up with pleasure, and he gasped and groaned while thick ribbons of cum shot out of his straining cock and cross his chest and onto Harry's arm.

Slowly the elder wizard came down from his own orgasmic high and loosened his grip on Harry while smiling lazily up at him. Harry beamed down feeling elated and sated at the same time. Harry fell back into his own seat on the couch, smiling stupidly and feeling giddy.

"That was... brilliant," Harry said in an awed tone.

Maximilian chuckled. "Yes. Definitely brilliant."

– – –


	14. Chapter 14

"Harry? _Harry?_ Merlin, what's with you today?"

Harry jerked slightly and turned his head to find Ron looking over at him with mild annoyance in his eyes.

"Huh? Nothing, m'fine," Harry muttered, shaking his head and heaving a small sigh.

"You sure? You've been really distracted today," Ron said, frowning slightly.

"Yeah, I've just got a lot on my mind," Harry muttered and looked away from his friend and towards the low-burning hearth in the Gryffindor Common Room. He and Ron were both perched on one of the squashy couches while Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her books and parchments spread out around her. It was Saturday evening now, and Harry realized he'd probably spent most of the day since leaving Maximilian's office, brooding.

The only thing that occasionally lifted his spirits was the memory of what he and Maximilian had done after returning from the Ministry, but even _that_ pleasant memory couldn't quite overpower the full weight that wanted to settle in upon Harry every time he thought about the prophecies.

He told himself that, at least, the first one was done and over with, so there wasn't anything specific left over from that one, that he still had to worry about. Well, except for whatever it was that supposedly had made them 'equal' that Voldemort had gifted him. Harry had actually forgotten all about that until several hours after leaving Maximilian's office, and then spending several hours pondering over the two prophecies on his own. He'd meant to question the older man about that since, at the Ministry, it had appeared that Maximilian knew what it was referring too.

At this point, all Harry could think of was the Parseltongue thing... and he supposed that was, theoretically, a power that had aided Harry in the Chamber thing. Harry wouldn't have been able to get down there at all, if not for being a Parselmouth. The skill hadn't exactly aided him in defeating the basilisk or putting one of it's fangs through the diary, but Harry figured that probably didn't really matter all that much.

So the first prophecy was fulfilled and he supposed that should be a weight off his chest, but there were other people out there who _didn't_ know it was over and done with – people who might still expect Harry to be the one to save them all if and when Voldemort started causing havoc again.

Dumbledore no doubt still expected Harry to somehow vanquish Voldemort for good at some point – although, if he expected that, Harry wondered why the hell Dumbledore wasn't taking a more active role in making sure Harry wasn't magically incompetent – and on the other side of the problem, there was Voldemort himself, who probably still wanted to know what the full prophecy said and very well would probably come after Harry if he knew that Harry knew about it. For that matter, he would probably assume that Harry _did_ know about it because Dumbledore would have told him, to give him motivation to become a great powerful wizard so that he could fulfill the blasted thing. Even though – for some unimaginable reason – Dumbledore was doing no such thing.

Voldemort and his supporters would probably be willing to do anything necessary to find out what the prophecies' contents were – up to and including kidnapping and torturing anyone who already knew. Which was Harry, and anyone he told.

Before leaving Maximilian's office, Harry had remarked upon the fact that it was ruddy _Trelawney_ who had made the first prophecy, and how incredulous he was made by that fact since most of the time the woman was a total fraud and a hack. Maximilian then pointed out that it was the fact that she had made the prophecy, that gave her job security at Hogwarts. Everyone – including Dumbledore – knew that she was incompetent, however, if Dumbledore wanted to protect her from anyone who might go after her to try and pry the prophecy out of her brain, he had to keep her at Hogwarts.

This had served to remind Harry that anyone who knew about the prophecy was probably in great danger of being kidnapped and tortured by Voldemort or his followers. And at the moment Professor Monroe was the only person outside of himself, who knew the full contents of the prophecies, putting the man in potential danger. On top of that, Harry found himself wishing he could finally come clean and tell Hermione and Ron the truth about what he'd learned, but not fearing for their lives, should he do such a thing.

When he expressed this concern, however, Maximilian had almost dismissed the worry outright, which surprised Harry. Harry found himself worrying quite a lot about the line from the second prophecy about his friendships being tested and lost, and knew that keeping secrets from his friends was one sure-fire way to risk losing them. Because of this, part of him really wanted to confide in both Ron and Hermione about the prophecies, but now he was afraid that if either of them knew anything about the contents, their lives would be in danger from anyone who might want to know what the prophecy said.

Maximilian had pointed out that they were in just as much danger if Harry _didn't _tell them. Anyone who would kidnap Harry's friends in hopes of gaining sensitive information would kidnap Ron or Hermione first _anyway_. Whether they knew something or not. The difference was that if they knew something, they would have something of value they could give their kidnappers and hopefully find themselves released quickly and without any serious torture. It wasn't like the contents of the first prophecy were really sensitive anymore, so why continue to protect them?

But then he'd gone on to say that he honestly didn't think that Harry had to worry much about that, _anyway_, and that he should put the matter out of his mind, as there were more pressing concerns to concentrate on – like getting emancipated and getting his godfather's name cleared.

Maximilian had even gone so far as to tell Harry that if he was worried about losing his friendships with Ron and Hermione, that he should just tell them as much as he thought he could, while still remaining mostly vague. He only requested that Harry not tell anyone that his knowledge of the prophecies' existence had come from Maximilian in the first place.

He suggested that, instead, Harry tell them that the Unspeakable who was Mr. Jennings' client, had gone to Mr. Jennings and told him that his client – Harry Potter – Had a couple prophecies that he really ought to see. It probably wasn't normally done, but no one could confirm or deny that it had actually happened, and it avoided any unwanted scrutiny on Professor Monroe from Headmaster Dumbledore.

This was a very valid concern, as far as Harry was concerned, and definitely a reasonable request. A small, but loud, voice in the back of Harry's mind was already worried about what awful fate would befall his teacher and love-interest, that would result in him to lose the Defense post by the end of the year. The curse was consistent in one way only – something _always went wrong_.

Harry didn't know if their... _relationship_ would become public knowledge and cost Maximilian the job _that_ way (he rather hoped that wouldn't end up the case though), or if Dumbledore would just realize that Maximilian was the one who had opened Harry's eyes and helped him to discover Dumbledore's dubious and illegal actions, and thus, _fire_ Maximilian out of spite.

Of course he also knew it was possible that any number of other, totally unforeseen, things could happen between now and the end of the year (it was only October, after all), that would be the result of the curse, but Harry's mind kept latching onto those two possibilities most of all, and he rather doubted he could get his worried and paranoid mind to shut up about it, no matter how hard he tried.

In any case, he recognized that keeping Maximilian's apparent involvement in his new revelations to a minimum was for the best, and agreed that _if_ he told Ron and Hermione anything about his trip to London and the Ministry, that he would bend a few details to do just that.

So he'd spent the afternoon brooding on whether or not he should tell them – _how_ he would tell them, if he decided to do that – and also stewing over the general details of the second prophecy and what it might mean for him, now.

"So Harry –" Ron began a few moments later, pulling Harry temporarily out of his brooding once again, "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the pitch tomorrow and get in some practice?"

"Honestly, Ronald! You just _had_ a Quidditch game!" Hermione exclaimed incredulously. "It'll be ages before the next one! You cannot seriously think you can keep going with this ridiculous practice schedule!"

Ron sat up straighter and scowled at her. "And why not?"

"In case you have forgotten – which I seriously suspect you _have_ – you are a _Prefect_, Ronald! You have responsibilities, which you have been neglecting, leaving _me_ to deal with it all, on my own! On top of that, it is also our OWLs year! You're already behind in Herbology because of all the practice you put in last week!"

"I am not! Professor Sprout gave me an extension on that essay," Ron argued indignantly.

"Honestly, Ron," Harry put in tiredly, "Hermione's right."

"Oh, so you're takin' her side? I s'pose you figure it's not even worth my time to bother with the extra practices. Seein' as how I was such rubbish last game. What's the point in wasting my time, when it hardly matters if I'm rubbish at it or not? We still won, didn't we? All because of _you_."

Harry sat up straighter and looked over at Ron incredulously. "Are you out of your mind? Where'd you even pull that rubbish out from? I never said anything of the sort!"

"Maybe not, but I know you're thinking it," Ron growled with a sour sneer.

"No, actually, I'm not," Harry said in heated annoyance.

"Everyone else is," Ron snapped. "Everyone is going on about how rubbish I was. That I sure was lucky that the _Great Harry Potter_ managed to get the snitch before I went and mucked it all up and lost the game for us," Ron sneered in a mocking, angry voice.

"Who's saying that? Slytherins? Come on, Ron! You should know better than to let that rubbish get to you!"

Ron barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "It's not just the Slytherins. _Everyone_ is saying it. Don't think I haven't heard. Even last night at the party and all morning around the grounds. Everyone is whispering behind my back, giving me all these pathetic looks and laughing at me. I'm not blind!"

"That's ridiculous! And even if they are, I'm not them, am I? What the hell, Ron? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me! I –"

"Shut up!" Hermione snapped, standing up suddenly and clenching her hands into tight fists at her side. "Shut up, Ron! You're just making a bigger fool out of yourself. If you don't shut up now, you're liable to say something you're going to regret and can't take back!"

Ron shot to his feet, glaring angrily at Hermione now. "You two – always taking each other's side lately. You two sure have been getting awfully close this year. You think I haven't noticed how much time the two of you have spent hidden away together in the library?" Ron snarled with an ugly sneer.

"Yeah, because you always ditch us for bloody Quidditch!" Hermione yelled and her lower lip quivered and her face went red and blotchy.

"Yeah, well you two can have each other, then! Who wants pathetic Ron Weasley hanging around, anyway!" Ron yelled before turning abruptly and storming out of the common room.

Harry sat there on the couch utterly stunned and with his jaw hanging open.

"What the hell was _that?_" Harry said in a shocked, hoarse voice after a few minutes had passed, during which the gawkers had lost interest and gone back to their own conversations and homework.

When Harry looked back up at Hermione he realized suddenly that she looked to be on the brink of tears. Her eyes were red-ringed and had a shine to them from the threatening tears. Harry swallowed thickly, feeling dread well up in his chest. One of the things he was grateful about having realized he was gay was knowing that he wouldn't have to deal with crying girls as often as a straight bloke might. But Hermione was his friend, so this was different, and he couldn't run away from it either.

"'Mione?" Harry ventured cautiously.

Her face hardened with anger and determination. "He's an idiot," she growled sharply before turning around and falling gracefully back into her previous position on the floor, surrounded by books and parchment.

Harry hesitated for several long moments, feeling utterly lost and unsure of what he should be doing. He didn't know if he should try to comfort Hermione, go after Ron, or just go back to his own hardly-touched homework reading. He realized that under normal circumstances he probably would have opted for the easier route – namely, going back to his own reading and dealing with the emotional insanity later – but right now he had that damned prophecy looming over his head and the threat of lost friendships.

"Hermione?" Harry said gently. She flinched ever-so-slightly but didn't say anything else in reply. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

She seemed to remain motionless for several long moments before her shoulders sagged and she sighed. "I don't know, Harry." she finally said.

"What... what was up with Ron? I didn't even know anything was bothering him and then he just goes and explodes like that..." Harry admitted, feeling a bit bad about that. Well, sure, he'd known that Ron had been stressing out over the whole Quidditch thing for weeks now, but Harry still felt blind-sided by this unexpected outburst.

"I don't know, Harry. Ron is Ron. I don't think I'll _ever_ be able to understand him," she grumbled under her breath, still hunched over and sitting on the floor several feet away from Harry.

Harry frowned and tried to run over what Ron had said before storming off. "You don't think he's _jealous_ or something, do you?"

Hermione scoffed. "Well, _obviously_ he's jealous Harry. He's _always_ jealous of you. That's just _Ron_. In his mind, you'll always be the Quidditch star and the hero while he's just the bumbling side-kick. It's all of his stupid insecurities popping up again. It's just like last year. I can't believe he's doing this again. He –"

"No, not that. Okay, well, there's that too, I guess. But I mean about you and me spending time together."

Finally she turned around and frowned at Harry with apparent confusion. "Well it's hardly our fault that Ron seems to think he's allergic to the library. It's not like we haven't invited him to study with us, or asked him to help do research for Snuffle's case, or for your political research. He's the one who decided his time was better spent chasing a quaffle around the pitch."

Harry hummed hesitantly as his mind mulled over the loose threads of a forming idea. It wasn't entirely there, yet, but there was a hint of a theory in his mind. He scrutinized Hermione for a long moment wondering if perhaps...

"I wonder..." Harry muttered.

"Wonder what?" Hermione asked cautiously.

"What if Ron fancies you?"

"Whut?" she sputtered and flushed, going wide-eyed and looking around as if she were afraid someone was listening in.

"Well, like I said, what if he's jealous – not just of me and all that rubbish about his insecurities and my fame, but jealous because he's afraid you and I are getting too close?"

"You think Ron thinks that we're going to end up dating?" Hermione exclaimed, looking almost amused now.

Harry shrugged. "I think its possible. I mean, maybe he doesn't exactly fancy you – although, I honestly sort of think he might – but maybe he's just afraid of becoming the third wheel or whatever. You know – he's afraid we'll become something more and he'll get left behind."

Hermione's face went somewhat slack and she blinked at Harry with a rather stunned look on her face. "Harry... that's really quite clever. You might have something there. I'm really impressed, Harry."

"Is it so hard to believe that I can work stuff like this out for myself?" he asked with mock hurt.

Hermione gave him a fond shove on the knee and rolled her eyes. "Prat," she muttered affectionately.

Harry smiled at her for a moment before it slipped away slightly and he sighed. "What should we do about Ron?" he asked, finally.

"I don't know, Harry. Give him some space and see if he cools off and realizes what an idiot he's being."

"Yeah, but Ron can be a real stubborn arse, and hates to admit when he's wrong – it could take ages before he comes to us," Harry said with a grimace.

Hermione tilted her head to the side and eyed Harry curiously for a long enough period of time that Harry began to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. "What?" he finally asked and fidgeted with the cuff of his robe.

"You've really matured a lot since last year, Harry," she observed. "You're definitely handling this _loads_ better than you did _last year_ when Ron ran off being a stubborn idiot with his jealousy."

Harry ducked his head and gave her an awkward one-shouldered shrug.

"I don't know about that..."

"No, you're definitely handling this better than you did the last time. You just got angry then – angry that he believed everyone else over you, even though he's your friend and should know you better than that – and the two of you just remained stubbornly _angry_ with each other for _ages._ It was really exhausting. Remember how the two of you were always using me and Neville as middle-men for your conversions? '_Hermione, would you tell Ron that I'm not talking to him right now.' , 'Hermione, would you tell Harry that I don't care if he's not talking to me right now because I'm not talking to him either.' _It was ridiculous!"

Harry laughed. "Oh come _on!_ We weren't _that_ bad!"

"You were too!" she insisted quite stubbornly, but she was smiling somewhat as well.

Harry chuckled a bit sheepishly before letting out a bit of a sigh and shrugging one shoulder. "I guess I just... can see the pieces better, and put it into perspective now," Harry said, hesitantly, not really sure how to put it into words. "I... I've been practicing Occlumency with Professor Monroe – I mentioned that to you, right?"

"Yeah, you _vaguely_ mentioned it two days ago," she said frowning. She'd meant to try looking it up but hadn't gotten around to it yet.

"Well, it helps me organize my thoughts. Lets me see the puzzle pieces better, I guess. And I suppose, it helps me uhm... approach things more rationally and not just get overwhelmed by my first emotional reaction – or at least, it will, once I've got a better handle on it. I still get totally overwhelmed by some things," Harry paused and grimaced, thinking about how overwhelmed he'd been at the Ministry and all day since then, and made a mental note to spend an extra long time on his Occlumency meditations that night, going over the memories from that morning with a fine tooth comb. "But I'm getting better at it. Plus I've got a lot on my mind right now, so Ron going all mental for no apparent reason seemed kind of less important, I guess. Does that make sense?"

Hermione's lips parted in apparent surprise. "That's really something Harry. How long have you been working on this anyway? I thought you only just started it this week?"

"Er, well, yeah, just this week. But Professor Monroe is a really good teacher," Harry said with a small grin. "But I _am_ still early on with it all. I really need to dedicate some more time to sorting through my memories. A lot of it is still cluttered in my head. I'll only get better the more I clean it up in there," he said, tapping his finger against his temple.

Hermione nodded slowly before frowning again. "Has something else happened, Harry?"

"Huh?"

"Well, before Ron blew up like that, he did have a point. You have been really distracted today. More so than I would expect the morning after a Quidditch match and party. I mean, you usually stay up late for the parties and then sleep in for ages the next day. But you were missing this morning. Ron slept in, but I was up early and you weren't anywhere to be found. When Ron finally did come down, he said you weren't up there and I was in the common room almost all morning, so I wouldn't have missed you coming down, which means you had to have left before I even got up for breakfast. So where were you?"

Harry heaved a very heavy sigh, realizing in his mind that this really was the moment of truth and he needed to just tell her or not.

"Yeah... er, that's a bit of a big story. I've actually been mulling over in my head all afternoon, trying to figure out how to tell the two of you."

Hermione sat straighter and shuffled closer to him from her spot on the floor.

"I guess one of the biggest problems I've been trying to figure out was just how to tell Ron," Harry went on, grimacing slightly. "I've been keeping a lot from him lately – not because I wanted to keep secrets, exactly, but just because it's so much more work to get him to understand."

Hermione gave him an understanding look and nodded her head sympathetically.

"But now I feel like there's this small mountain of things I need to catch him up on so that he can understand the newer stuff... I just don't know what to do! And then this thing with him being jealous or whatever, comes out of nowhere... I don't know if I can wait for him to realize he's being stupid, so that I can fill him in. He's already so far behind, I feel like if I wait much longer to catch him up, it'll just become too much."

Hermione hummed while frowning and nodding her head thoughtfully. "Yeah, you really haven't been involving Ron much in all this politics research you've been doing. Or really _any_ of the things you've discovered about the Headmaster."

"He'd find it all _boring_ though," Harry argued weakly. "And I've also been afraid that his jealousy would rear up because of it too. I mean, I've got this mountain of political power apparently, and money and influence... I don't think Ron really gives two knuts about politics or political power, but I don't think that'll prevent him from getting upset over finding out that I, apparently, do have it, just out of nowhere."

"Well, it's hardly 'out of nowhere', Harry. You inherited them from your father's family."

"Yeah, but Ron's not going to inherit anything like that, is he? I mean, even if the Weasley's do have some seats on the Wizengamot – and I'm fairly sure that they _don't_ – they've got 5 other sons _before Ron _who would have claim to them first. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would probably keep at least a seat or two to themselves for many years to come... I really _really_ doubt that if they have seats at all, that they've got _seven or eight_ of them. There's really no chance of Ron seeing any opportunities like that."

"Not like he'd _want_ that, anyway," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "What would _Ron_ do with a seat on the Wizengamot?"

"Probably let it sit there, untouched, like my dad did," Harry said with a sigh and a shrug. "But that doesn't change the fact that he'll probably find some irrational reason to be upset that _I've_ suddenly got it. Hell, he'd probably even be offended by the idea of my actually _wanting to use them_."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully before giving a bit of a tilt to her head. "I can see that. It's not _logical_, but that doesn't mean that Ron wouldn't find some way to feel that way." She paused then and gave Harry a considering look again. "So something more did happen today?"

Harry nodded and glanced around briefly before looking back at Hermione. "Can you pack up your things? If you're busy right now, we can talk later on, but we can't talk about it here."

Hermione instantly began to shuffle parchment and binders and books into neat piles before sliding them into her bookbag. A moment later, she was standing with the bag slung over her shoulder, giving him an expectant and slightly impatient look. Harry smiled and chuckled despite his nerves and stood up as well. The two left the common room and spent the next couple minutes finding a good empty classroom (the first one they went into had a couple of snogging sixth years in it so they had to keep looking.) Once they did find one they spent a minute casting an imperturbable charm on the door to make sure no one could listen-in, and also made sure there were no portraits or ghosts in the room.

Hermione sat herself down into one of the chairs behind a desk and gave Harry a patient look while he settled into a chair that he pulled up opposite her, and sat in backwards.

Harry heaved a sigh and tried to go over in his mind how he had considered broaching this subject, but found his mind blank. He huffed in annoyance at himself and decided to just go for it.

"Okay, this morning I was in London."

Hermione's eyes widened and her brows disappeared into the curly fringe over her forehead. "_London?" _she echoed incredulously.

"I went to Mr. Jennings' office in London and from there we floo'd to the Ministry building."

"Why? What'd you do?" Hermione asked, leaning forward in her seat.

Harry pulled his lower-lip between his teeth for a moment. "Well, uhm, one of Mr. Jenning's clients is an Unspeakable – do you know what that is?"

Hermione's eyes widened _again_ and she nodded her head. "Of course!"

"So you've heard of the Department of Mysteries?"

Hermione paused and frowned.

"Or... not," Harry said slowly a moment later. Hermione shrugged and shook her head. "Well then what do you know about the Unspeakables, then?"

"Just that they're witches and wizards who work for the Ministry on high level magical research," Hermione paused, "that, and the fact that their work is secret and they take an oath not to speak about it or something."

"Ah, well where they do their work is a place called the Department of Mysteries. I don't actually know much about it either, honestly, but I do know that one of the things they study there is prophecy and divination. Apparently they've got a 'Hall of Prophecy' where they store these prophecy orbs; glass balls holding a prophecy made by a seer at some point. They keep track of which prophecies have come true and which ones never come to pass. That sort of stuff."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she gave him a rather dubious look. Harry wasn't especially surprised. He knew that Hermione didn't exactly have a very high opinion of the field of divination.

"So what does this have to do with you going to London?" she asked.

"Well, like I said, one of Mr. Jennings' clients is an unspeakable and uh, he found out that I recently put Mr. Jennings under retainer as my legal council. He told Mr. Jennings that there was something of interest to me at the Department of Mysteries and that we should go through official channels to inquire further. Mr. Jennings asked me if I wanted him to investigate and I said yes, so he did. It turned out that there were two prophecies held within the Department of Mysteries with me as the subject, so we scheduled a visit and that's what I did this morning. I went there and heard them."

Hermione's lips parted for a moment before they pressed back firmly together and she frowned. "Two _prophecies_, about _you?_ What..." she trailed off, looking thoughtful and concerned.

Harry pulled in a slow breath and pressed on. "It turns out that the first prophecy is known by a few other people. Dumbledore knows about it because he was the one who witnessed it when it was first made. One of Voldemort's spies heard part of it and told him about it, too. This was back in the winter of 1980, before I was even born."

Hermione twisted up her face. "Did you just say Volde_mor?_"

"Er, yeah, Professor Monroe says that's how it's supposed to be pronounced. Anyway, like I said, this prophecy was made back before I was even born and Voldemort found out about it. The prophecy said that someone was going to be born that was supposed to have the power to defeat him. It gave out some details to identify the child, said that Voldemort would give the child some of his power and that one of them would have to kill the other." Harry paused and pulled in a fortifying breath. "It was about me. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort determined that it was talking about me, once I was born and the details apparently lined up.

"_That_ was why he came after me. _That_ was why he killed my parents and tried to kill me. All this time I thought that Voldemort came after my parents or... or well, honestly I didn't know _why_ he'd come after me. No one would ever tell me. When I asked Dumbledore he refused to tell me. _And he knew!_ He knew about the prophecy because he was the one that witnessed it in the first place!"

Harry clenched his jaw and closed his eyes for a moment to try and force himself to calm down. He paused and tried to force the storm of thoughts and emotions in his head to stop spinning about. He could _see_ the frenzy in his mind, and visualized it ordering into neat piles and literally _felt_ his mind clearing and calming down.

When he opened his eyes again Hermione was watching him with terrible worry in her eyes.

"People seriously believe this prophecy insanity? I mean... wait, what exactly did it say? One of you has to kill the other? But – I – _no!_ That's just –"

"Hermione! It's okay," Harry said, trying to sound reassuring.

"It is _not_ okay, Harry Potter! This makes it sound as if one of you is destined to kill the other, and this is _You-Know-Who _that we're talking about here! You've been fortunate before, but I'm not about to watch my best friend's life go on the line for hopes of luck and chance! Just become some barmy old seer says that one of you has to kill the other does _not_ mean it's your responsibility!"

"It's already fulfilled!"

"I – wait, what?" Hermione came to a sudden halt and frowned at him in confusion.

"Yeah, I know. I reacted the same way," Harry said with a weak chuckle. "The Unspeakables are able to tell if a prophecy is fulfilled or not. He waved his wand over the thing and there was some sort of magical readout. It told him when the prophecy was made, who the Seer was and who the witness was. It also told him if the prophecy was currently active, or already fulfilled and when it's status switched over to fulfilled. The first prophecy – the one that was made before I was even born – was marked as fulfilled during the spring of our second year. Apparently, on the same day that I put a basilisk fang through the diary, down in the Chamber. And _that_ counted as fulfilling what the prophecy was apparently really talking about."

"Wait – _what?_"

"_I know!_ It didn't make any sense to me either. But then this thing was explained to me about Voldemort having put a piece of himself into that book, and when I destroyed it, it allowed the piece that had been trapped to be returned to his main spirit, or something... it was pretty complicated, honestly. Anyway, it was suggested that the wording of the prophecy was misleading. It didn't say that I would kill Voldemort, it said that I would vanquish the Dark Lord. So apparently, even though it sounded like the prophecy was foretelling my killing him, all it was really foretelling was that I would trigger the thing that would switch him from being 'The Dark Lord' back to just being... Voldemort. Or something. And that happened, so it's fulfilled."

Hermione looked _very_ dubious at this. "But that's... that doesn't even make _sense!"_

"I believe I remember you dropping Divination specifically because the whole subject _didn't make sense_," Harry teased.

Hermione huffed and folded her arms across her chest.

"You said there was a second prophecy?" she said, finally.

"Yeah..." Harry frowned. "The second one was made during September at the very start of fourth year – so, it was before the Tournament's Champions were announced. It said that on Halloween night, my life would get screwed up again and then I'd have to face three tasks. Oh hey – did you know that you can build up power for some rituals by going through a whole bunch of difficult stuff before hand, and supposedly, magic will reward your hard work by making the ritual that much more powerful?"

"Huh? No – I've... actually... you know, I _do_ think I've read something along those lines once," she mused, suddenly thoughtful.

"Yeah, well apparently that's the reason why Voldemort had me entered in the Tournament and go through all that rubbish first, before portkeying me to the graveyard. That was to build up a bunch of extra magic power so that when he used my blood for the ritual, it would have enough power to recreate his body."

Hermione's mouth fell open with a small silent gasp.

"That was mentioned in the prophecy – that me being in the tasks would build up the power and then I would face He-Who-Flies-of-Death – which apparently means Voldemort. Then the prophecy said I would find a new path and that someone who was an ally would become my foe, which I think is most likely Dumbledore –"

"Harry! You can't mean that!"

"I most certainly do," Harry shot back sharply and she flinched slightly at the fierceness in his verdant green gaze. "Dumbledore left me with muggles who lied to me, isolated me, constantly tore me down and told me how worthless I was. He was supposed to be my Guardian Proxy – he was _supposed_ to check in on me, make sure I was healthy, safe, and informed, but he _never_ did.

"And after I came to Hogwarts, it was _his responsibility_ to make sure I was safe and to stand up for my rights. At the _bare _minimum, he should have stepped forward and prevented the Ministry from forcing me to participate in the Tournament. He could have, you know. He could have put a stop to it, but he didn't. He _insisted_ I participate! He used me as bait! Even Professor McGonagall said as much.

"He was supposed to make sure I was educated about my status in the House of Lords – make sure I was kept informed once I turned eleven – and he was _not_ supposed to actively vote on any of my seats without my express permission and participation. It's only allowed at all so that I can have a mentor and a guide while I learn and prepare for my responsibilities, but he never told me _anything_. He kept it hidden from me and _voted my seats_ without permission or consultation. _That's illegal, Hermione._ My solicitor is already preparing to press charges on that and a number of other issues.

"And what's more, he's kept the fact that there even was a _prophecy_ about me, hidden, all these years. He never once told me – even when I specifically asked him why Voldemort had come after me all those years ago, he refused to tell me. He's hiding things from me, Hermione. He's using me and my position and he's been guiding me down a path for who knows what reasons. But I can tell you this – it is _not_ because he has my best interests at heart. Mr. Jennings told me that Dumbledore _fought_ tooth and nail to gain the appointment as my magical Guardian Proxy. And what has he done with that power? It certainly wasn't for _my_ benefit that he fought so hard for control over my life and my assets."

Harry pulled in a deep breath to try and slow down his heart rate and his frazzled nerves. Finally he looked her back in the eye, pinning her with his gaze. "Right now, Hermione... Dumbledore strikes me as more evil than anyone else in my life. And that's really saying something. He hides and manipulates and lies, and abuses power; all the while, projecting this genial, barmy, wise old man. He's a trickster and a liar. And... and he _has_ become my enemy. He was my ally, and he's become my enemy. The prophecy's proven true on all fronts so far. And it's right on this one too."

Hermione let out a shuddering, slightly horrified breath. She appeared to swallow quite deeply before giving him a shaky nod. "I... I think you've got a point, and you... you might really be right. I just... I just hate to think it could be true. It's just all so awful."

Harry let out a humorless sort of laugh before sighing heavily and sinking back into his chair, tiredly.

"I still think that you should try _talking_ to Dumbledore, though. You've found out all these things and you're making all these accusations against him, but you haven't spoken to him once since term started. How is he supposed to defend himself against any false charges?"

"It's hardly _my fault_ that we haven't said one word to each other all year. He's been avoiding me like I've got dragon pox. He didn't even say one word to me at my trial back in August! And believe me, I _tried_ to talk to _him!"_

"But would you talk to him if you got the chance?" Hermione asked sounding hopeful.

Little alarm bells went off in the back of Harry's mind and he sat up a bit straighter, pinning Hermione with a stern look.

"Don't approach him," he said in an almost demanding tone.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "What? Why?"

"Not yet, Hermione. Don't go to him about this."

"Why not?"

"Because I've got some things in the works, and if he finds out, he'll interfere. It's too early. If you go to him, it could ruin a lot of things right now. You can't tell him _anything_ that I've told you."

"But Harry –"

"_No buts!"_

"What _things_, exactly, do you have going on, though?" Hermione asked, frowning deeper.

"Mr. Jennings is working on getting me emancipated. He thinks that there's more than enough precedent already set by the Ministry, and the evidence he's building up against Dumbledore, to get me legally declared an adult by New Years. If it goes through, Dumbledore will lose access to my votes, completely, and he won't like that, at all."

"But Harry! He should have a chance to defend himself!"

"And he will," Harry said harshly, "_in court._ I'm not going to give him the opportunity to try and sweep this under the rug, or use political influence to slow things down."

"Oh Harry... I don't know..." Hermione groaned, worridly.

"Just promise me you won't go to him," Harry said in a pleading voice.

Hermione held his gaze and chewed on her lower lip for several seconds before heaving a sigh and nodding her head. "Okay, I promise."

"Thank you," Harry said seriously with a firm nod of his head.

Hermione just sighed heavily and leaned back in her own chair for a minute.

"Did it say anything else?" Hermione asked quietly, several silent moments later.

"Hmm?"

"The prophecy?"

"Oh..." Harry grimaced and hesitated a moment before sighing. "It did..."

Hermione looked up more concerned now, having heard the reluctance in his voice. "And...?"

"It said that my greatest foe would become my ally," Harry admitted with a deep grimace.

Hermione's eyes widened very slowly as she no doubt interpreted precisely what that line most likely made.

"That's..."

"Yeah. Believe me... I'm not really sure _what_ I think about that one," Harry grumbled and reached down to pick at part of the lining of his robes. "I mean... it's one thing for me to come to the decision that I'm no longer on Dumbledore's side – whatever side that even _is_ – but it's another thing entirely to embrace the whole 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' deal. And that's pretty much the only way I can even fathom the idea of being on the same side of anything as Voldemort. It's just.." Harry huffed and shook his head rather helplessly, looking hesitantly over at Hermione who's lips were still parted with apparent shock.

"Merlin, Harry. This all... it's just a lot to take in..." she said, shaking her head slightly as she attempted to wrap her mind around it.

"You're telling me?" Harry said with a small humorless laugh.

She looked back over at him and gave him a sympathetic grimace. Finally she just blew out a deep breath and shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll just take it as it comes. I mean... well, there's no guarantee that the whole prophecy thing will happen at _all_. We could just be getting worked up over nothing. I've never put much stock in divination nonsense –"

"Yeah, but everything else in this prophecy has come true," Harry pointed out and Hermione gave him a pointed glare before sighing and giving a conceding tilt of her head.

"I suppose that might be true – but if the first prophecy is anything to go by, it's apparent that the words can be misleading at times."

Harry didn't especially think that there was a lot of room for the words in this instance of being wrongly interpreted, but decided not to point that out right now.

"Was that it, though? The prophecy?"

"Oh – actually, there was one more part," Harry said with another small sigh.

"Oh no – what else?" Hermione asked with a cringe.

"It said that friendships would be tested, lost, and made. The Greater Good would fail, but that wizarding Britain would be better for it – whatever _that_ means. That was it though."

"Oo... that bit about friendships lost is rather ominous," Hermione said, looking at Harry with a worried reluctance.

"Yeah, I've been stewing over that line all day," Harry grumbled before bringing his arms up and folded over the back of the chair in front of him and let his face bury down into them.

Hermione sighed and reached out to lay her hand on his arm, supportively. "I'm sure we can work it all out, Harry. I don't care what anyone says about prophecies and divination – and I don't care if the rest of the stupid thing has come true or not – I don't think anything is set in stone."

Harry gave her a slightly grateful grin but it mostly turned into a grimace. The two didn't stay there for much longer after that, and soon enough they were back in Gryffindor Tower, working on their various homework assignments.

Ron didn't return to the common room until much later that evening, and by that time, Harry had already gone up to their dorm room to work on his Occlumency meditations. Harry was aware, on some level, when Ron came up to the 5th years boys dorm room, as he heard Ron and Seamus talking briefly before the two each got into their respective beds. Some part of Harry had considered leaving the isolation of his bed hangings to approach Ron, but in the end he didn't think that he'd really have enough time or privacy at the moment to accomplish anything worthwhile, and so he remained isolated, in bed, and refocused on organizing his mind, instead.

– – –

AN: The thing about Voldemort being pronounced with a silent 't' is actually true, going by one of Jo's quotes. "JKR says she pronounces Voldemort "Voldemor," not "Voldemort," but she is the only one." - it's on the Harry Potter Lexicon and on Accio Quote. I'd link to it, but it's such a bother to do links in ffnet, so just google it if you really care.

In other news, **I've got a poll on my author page that I would like opinions on**. I mentioned when I started posting this story that while I was writing it, I bounced off onto a couple other stories before bouncing back onto this one. One of the stories that I was writing at the same time as this one is a story I'm considering posting. It has a lot of very similar themes, but is also extremely different. I really like the idea behind it, actually, but I'm not sure I can figure out where to go with it. It got to 197 pages before I lost my muse on it. Would anyone want me to post it, even if there's a decent chance that I'll never get around to finishing it?


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